Hard to Explain
by Begonias
Summary: Ponyboy's life has been crazy lately. With balancing a job, getting a new(ish) car, worrying about college, and trying to juggle a relationship that might not even be worth salvaging, he has a lot on his hands. The repercussions of the Vietnam War, hippies, protests, and a new era are awaiting Ponyboy, and he's just trying to survive the summer.
1. Whiplash Girlchild in the Dark

**A/N: **Maybe I shouldn't be starting a new story, but I figure since "Out of the Blue" has only about a chapter left I'll start a new tale. I've worked really hard on this, and I'll admit, I'm really proud of it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything mentioned, except my OCs.

* * *

"You going out with Donna tonight?"

I crack my eyes open against the blinding light in my room. When I look up, I see Sodapop, his hair not greased, DX cap balancing precariously on his head. He's leaning against the door frame of my room. He has a knowing look on his face.

I sit up. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the sunlight. "Unfortunately," I say. I try to keep the disdain out of my voice.

Sodapop shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face. "I don't understand why you even go out with her."

I decide I won't be getting back to sleep any time soon, so I get up. I'll have to get up soon for work anyway. "Because I like her, Soda."

I met Donna three months ago at a rave party, where she sat herself, isolated from the rest of us, by the jukebox. Her mannerisms showed that she didn't want to be there.

Donna's two years older than me. She will soon be attending her first year at a small community college about twenty minutes outside Tulsa. She's a cute girl, with big blue eyes, and she was wearing a yellow sundress when I first saw her. I got a thing for girls who can pull off yellow.

She has her hair styled just like that model, Twiggy's, because looking like a British mod is in now.

She calls herself a "free spirit", but she is literally one of the most aggravating people I've ever met. But there's something about her. There's a good feeling I always get when I'm around her. She makes me happy, even if she is high-strung. I can look past that.

Not that the gang would understand my logic. They always wonder why I even put up with her. Steve reckons I just like the challenge. And maybe he's right.

"Do you need money for tonight?" asks Soda.

"Nah," I reply. "I got some money from puttin' in extra hours at the bookstore."

I got a job at Lansdowne Books about a month before I met Donna. It wasn't that hard a job to get. It's a perfect work place for me, really. It pays well, decent hours, and I get to be around what I love on a daily basis.

I only work weeks during the Summer, and when I start my senior year of high school I'll only be able to work weekends.

I make eggs for breakfast. While they're frying I rub my eyes and I can't help but wonder why I'm so tired. Oh yeah. I was up all night studying the numerous amounts of college paraphernalia Darry'd brought me.

I don't know why he's so worried about college. I haven't even started my senior year yet.

I get out some plates and set them on the table carefully. I shout, "Breakfast is ready, guys!"

Sodapop bounds in, toothbrush in mouth. He rubs his hands together eagerly and sits. "Smells delicious!"

"Do you need a ride to work today, Pony?" Darry comes in to my view from his bedroom down the hall.

"Yeah," I say, embarrassed. "Man, I really need to get my own car."

"Why?" I hear Two-Bit suddenly say. I didn't hear him come in, though apparently he's picked up on the tail-end of our conversation. "Ya got me and Darry to drive you 'round."

When Darry doesn't look I give him a glance to tell him to help me out. Two-Bit winks and mouths _Okay. _And does the A-Okay sign with his fingers. I almost snort.

"You don't need a car, Ponyboy," Darry grumbles, his shoulders broad.

Soda looks at him with a curious expression. It seems like he has something he wants to say.

I start to dig in to my own eggs as I see Darry staring at me. I try again with, "But I highly doubt Darry here'll be willing to drive me everywhere, and I can't keep borrowing the truck every time I wanna take Donna out on a date…"

"He has a point, Dar," interjects Sodapop. I nod my gratitude; he's always there to back me up.

"And 'sides," I say, "I got the money to pay for it. I been savin' from the money I get workin' extra hours at Lansdowne."

"You're supposed to save your job money for college funds," Darry grunts stiffly. He stabs his fork in to the egg.

Light bulb. "Speaking of _college_," I intone, "I'll need a car for when I'm on campus. Ya know … to get around to places. How am I supposed to get anywhere without a car?"

Darry looks aggravated, because I know he knows I'm right. And it's my money anyway. The money I earned myself. I have the right to buy a car if I want to. I sure do need it.

Two-Bit seems to ponder this thought and rubs his chin thoughtfully.

I keep trying. I really want a car. It doesn't even have to be a really tuff, nice one. Just one that gets me from Point A to Point B. "I'll probably get a scholarship for college anyway, Dar."

Soda says, "Yeah. He _did_ bring straight A's home last semester."

I'm thankful for Sodapop's help because I know that in the end his word will help Darry's decision a lot.

"What brought this on anyway, Pony?" Darry says. "Since when do you need a car so bad?"

"I just need one. I don't wanna bother y'all with borrowin' the truck. I don't wanna keep takin' my girlfriend out in my brother's car."

Two-Bit's smile is smug. "What, did Donna bitch about it?"

"No," But I can feel my face getting red. They know her ways. I shake my head profusely. "No, she hasn't said anything about that."

Truth is, she does bitch about the fact that I didn't have my own car a lot of times. Almost every single time we go out to the movies or something she has something to say. Sometimes I think she forgets that her boyfriend is two years younger than she is. I'm only sixteen-going-on-seventeen. I don't think she can grasp the concept that I'm poor either, her having grown up wealthy.

I know what you may be thinking: I shouldn't be letting her boss me around. But she's not the only reason why I want a car for myself. I mean what I said earlier: I_ will_ need a car for college and other things I get up to this summer. It will help to be able to drive to my work in my own car.

They all laugh because they know I'm lying. As I grit my teeth I wonder if I've lost my ability to lie easily within the last few years.

After I dump the remnants of my eggs in the trash, I go to the bathroom to get ready for work. I get in the shower, actually dreading work today. There's an odd sense of foreboding as I get dressed.

I stand in front of the mirror and face my reflection. Do you think it would be all right to skip shaving? I really don't feel like it. It's weird - when I was fourteen all I wanted to do was shave. Now that puberty hit, shaving is one of the worst things ever.

I first hit puberty around the time I was going with Cathy Carlson. It made me taller - taller than Sodapop - and gave me a deep voice. And the thing I was most excited about: shaving.

Soda was right when he said I'd grow out of liking girls: I've dated three. Cathy Carlson was my first "real" girlfriend, my first kiss. She was a nice girl, outspoken. Darry liked her a lot for her maturity. Steve thought she had a stick up her ass. I liked her, but sometimes it felt like I was going out with a mother more than a girl my age.

It didn't end up working out. She still liked Bryon, whose brother, Mark Jennings got arrested for drug possession. Mark was a good buddy of mine - and I was sad when he got arrested. And according to rumors, it was Bryon who called the cops on him. I can't imagine turning Darry or Sodapop in to the cops. I just wonder how Mark could have done something so stupid.

My second girlfriend was just a brief stint after Cathy. I don't even like to think about it. I was mourning the breakup and I happened to just run in to her. It was a dark time in my life.

Don't judge me.

Angela Shepard.

I know.

_I know. _

This is one relationship my brothers don't know about. I can't even bring myself to tell Soda to this day, and it was almost a year ago I went out with her.

It was really unwise of me to even speak to her.

I mean, what if Tim or Curly found out? They would beat the shit out of me for sure. Especially because Curly is my buddy.

Luckily they didn't.

And the gang doesn't know. They'd ridicule me until the day I die. And anyway, I only went out with her for three weeks! That doesn't count as a relationship, does it? And I am not proud to admit this, but, all we ever did was make out. Hey, it's called adolescence. Hormones are uncontrollable.

I was the one who got her to go out with me, and she jumped at the chance. I regret even finding her. I guess I just wanted to find someone to hurt.

So I eventually broke up with her, because I was pretty much using her as a rebound. I didn't actually like her at all - she's not really my taste. And she did once get a guy to try and kill me for rejecting her the first time.

And she almost killed me again after I dumped her. I didn't want to dump her; I would much rather be the dumpee than the dumper, but it had to be done. And we couldn't keep sneaking around to hook up.

We never did anything more than make out. And I'll admit - as embarrassing and terrible as this sounds - it was fun to have a relationship that you didn't actually have to act like boyfriend/girlfriend in. No emotions. Just fun.

I hear the girls in the hallway that always say I'm such a chivalrous and sensitive gentleman, but God, maybe I'm not anymore. Maybe I'm just as bad as the guys in Brumly and Tim Shepard's gang that catcall and talk bad about women.

I respect women, sure. You can't blame me for going out with Angela, though, right? There's something infatuating about her. She's beautiful, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. She could be a model. She's electric. But, as cliché as this may sound, she's not beautiful or electric on the inside. And to me that may be all that matters.

I'm beating myself up about this. I'm respectful to Donna, and she's all that's important now. I treat her right.

"Come on, Ponyboy!" I hear Darry yell from outside the bathroom door. "You're gonna be late if you don't hurry up!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin," I mutter as I rinse off my razor, even though I know he can't hear me.

I walk out of the bathroom and slide my shoes on. I brush my teeth very quickly and we go.

When I climb in to the passenger seat Darry sits rigidly, his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. This is how we sit throughout the duration of the ride until finally Darry seems to crack. He heaves a sigh. "You can buy a car, Ponyboy. If you buy it yourself I'll help pay some of the car insurance."

I'm absolutely ecstatic. But I manage to hide it and say calmly, "Aw, no, Darry. You ain't gotta do that. I got enough money saved up to pay for everything."

Darry doesn't say more. He just grunts a goodbye and tells me I'll have to walk home unless Two-Bit can pick me up as I climb out of the truck and in to my work.

* * *

"Have you read this book?" Ruby, one of my coworkers, asks.

I take it from her. _A Clockwork Orange. _"I haven't," I mutter. I always like finding books I haven't read yet.

Her long, seemingly unkempt blonde hair falls down to her waste. She has hippie written all over her, from her lengthy hair to her flower head bands to her peace sign necklaces. She's probably around Donna's age - maybe slightly older. She's kind and always looks on the bright side. She's very optimistic - she's got a brother who's fighting the good fight in 'Nam. He was drafted a couple months ago, and that's all I know. I know that is some of the reason why she became a hippie.

"It's great!" she gushes. "I just finished it. You have to read it, Ponyboy! You'll love it!"

I put the book in my bag.

My manager Robert is a nice man. He's fair; gives us raises if we deserve them and gives us time off. I'm incredibly grateful for my job. And another perk about it is Robert lets us take books from the shop sometimes. He's very lenient about that kind of thing.

I have a few other coworkers: Eric, Mary, Joey, and Jim. They're all nice people, but I don't know Joey too well. He's older - around forty - and a Vietnam veteran who pretty much keeps his distance from all of us. But he's a great worker and I have a whole lot of respect for him.

* * *

I get off at five. I stick around for a few minutes to see if Two-Bit will show up.

Ruby sees me waiting. She calls from the parking lot, "Hey, you need a ride?"

She drives a Volkswagen Van. It's a bright yellow, and it even has flowers painted on the side. "Oh, no thanks!" I reply with a smile. "I'm waitin' on a friend."

Actually I don't really think Two-Bit's going to make it, but it's nice outside and maybe I'll stop at the park.

"Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow, Ponyboy!"

"Bye, Ruby."

* * *

As I walk down the sidewalk of the park I stare at the book in my hand. It looks interesting - scary almost. There's a distorted face on the front, and it gives me the creeps.

I look up and see that up ahead there are two people sitting on a blanket that reads "Grateful Dead". They both have long hair and bracelets and one of them is playing some strange instrument I've never seen before.

They have a jar that says "Thank you & peace" written on the front of it. I fish for a quarter in my pocket and drop it in.

The one playing looks up to me and smiles. "Thank you, friend."

I smile nervously. Flower people make me nervous. Besides Ruby.

"Wait," the hippie says as I start to walk away.

I turn to face him. He says, "Ponyboy Curtis?" He sets the instrument in to a case that is laying next to him. "Oh, wow, it is you!"

"Uh…" I say.

The stranger gives me a gut-crushing hug. "How have you been? God, I haven't seen you in years!"

"I'm sorry, but, who are you?"

"You don't recognize me? I'm Randy. Randy Adderson."

!

Holy shit! Christ Almighty, he looks different. I totally forgot about his existence. People were rumoring that he dropped out of school but I had no idea it was to become a flower child.

I also didn't know we were good enough friends to be hugging each other, but I allow it.

I try not to gawk at him. "Randy!" I exclaim, trying to sound cheerful. "How's it been?"

"I've been great! Life has been quite an experience, wouldn't you say?"

The other guy says, "The times … they are a-changing …"

I don't know what he means by this. He sits back on the blanket. Next to them there's a record that has a banana on it. It says "Andy Warhol" which confuses me because Andy Warhol is an artist, not a singer.

"Just like Dylan says," I can't help but mutter.

"He's a cool cat," Randy's hippie friend says and points to me. He starts to smoke something that looks like a cigarette but I doubt it's a cigarette. "What's your name, cat?"

Randy introduces us. "This is Ponyboy Curtis. Pony, this is Ocean Storm."

Somehow I doubt his actual name is Ocean Storm but I go along with it to be nice. Because my name isn't exactly normal either but at least it's authentic; it's really mine.

It's trippy - pun intended, by the way - to see Randy like this. He's unrecognizable. What happened to the clean-cut super-Soc?

"I think I have to go," I say as an attempt to leave. Seeing Randy like this was starting to scare me. "I was supposed to be home a while ago."

I feel bad for lying but I just have to leave. "We'll have to do lunch sometime, Ponyboy."

I nod and force a grin. When I turn around I hear them start to sing war protest songs.

I wonder if Cherry Valance has seen or talked Randy Adderson since after Bob died. I haven't talked to her since after the trial when Johnny and Dal died.

Lunch. Okay. I can do that.

Bob Dylan is right: the times really are changing.

* * *

**You may want to read this. **

**A/N: **I have a huge love for _A Clockwork Orange_ so Ponyboy is going share that love with me.

So, in case you were wondering, Twiggy was a model in the 60s who had short hair.

The Velvet Underground is the name of the band which Randy has on vinyl. Andy Warhol is on the record because he produced it. The name of the album is "The Velvet Underground and Nico".

In _That Was Then, This is Now_, there is a hippie mentioned named Randy. I'm sure I'm not the only one who assumed that it was the same Randy.

Okay, I think that's all that requires an explanation.


	2. Go Ask Alice

**A/N: **Hey! Thanks for the reviews, everybody! PLEASE. PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW. DON'T BE SHY. IF YOU READ, REVIEW. EVEN IF YOU THINK IT SUCKS. And puh-lease, please, tell me if I'm making Donna a Mary-Sue. It's my first attempt at romance, (even if it is only a minor part of the plot), and an OC who is one of the lead characters.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything mentioned below. :) This is also somewhat of a filler chapter.

* * *

I run the whole way back home. I don't want to risk running in to anymore people I used to know.

Two-Bit is lying on our couch. It's the first thing I see when I walk in. I inwardly groan. He_ could have_ picked me up today. Chocolate cake is coating his face, two beer cans are poking out from underneath the couch, his eyes are shut and red-rimmed.

"Two-Bit," I shake him. "Two-Bit, get up!"

"What?" he replies breathlessly. "What did I do?"

"Gee, Two-Bit. You passed out after only two beers? You really can't hold your liquor."

"Shut up," he snaps. He sniffles. "I drank a whole 'nother couple bottles o' whiskey back at Buck Merril's, so you can just shut your trap." His speech is slurred.

I raise my eyebrows and try to hide a smile, but I fail. I'm not used to this sassy Two-Bit. "Ouch. Harsh, buddy. What's up your corduroys?"

He howls loudly and brokenly, and I try not to roll my eyes at the extreme melodrama. "Kathy … Kathy, she … she broke up with me, man. Aw, I knew she was gonna do it one day."

My jaw literally falls to the floor. "Really? How come?"

"She said she, _'Needs a man'_," he gasps for air between dry sobs. Drunkenly he spews out, "Needs a man with … with ambition, whatever that means. I tell you, Ponyboy Curtis. Women," His voice cracks. "Women are the devil. Stay away from them."

He wails on to my shoulder.

"Two-Bit, calm the hell down. You're drunk."

You know, it's about time Kathy broke it off. We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later. It actually lasted a lot longer than any of us expected. Two-Bit doesn't have a job and he's just graduated last year. He doesn't have any life plans.

I feel real bad for Two-Bit because he deserves to be happy. He may be a hoodlum but he's not bitter and he's one of my best pals. He's always been there for me - especially after Dally and Johnny died.

"Pony," He looks up at me. "Pony, what's ambition?"

I chew on a fingernail. I can't seem to find an explanation that a drunk Two-Bit would understand. "Uh … well, ambition is a like setting a life goal. It's like when you want to achieve. Be successful in life."

"Sounds more like your forte, kiddo."

And he sounds so sad, and I feel so bad for him.

I know I probably wasn't much better when Cathy dumped me. I actually _cried_ to Sodapop about it. I wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of Soda, though, because look at the way he acted about Sandy!

Soda understood. He knew that pain.

"I'm real sorry, Two-Bit."

"I just need to get her back. That's all I need."

"Maybe you can get a job somewhere," I suggest.

This cracks a smile. "Yeah, right," he snorts. "You think the DX is hiring?"

* * *

"Hey, Soda," I say, lighting a cigarette. I give a nod. "Steve."

Sodapop and Steve are just getting home from work. They join me on the front porch, where I've since barricaded myself from Two-Bit. He was starting to get a little ridiculous.

Steve shrugs his DX uniform shirt off. "Where's Two-Bit? He leave?"

"In the house," I try to blow a smoke ring. "Moping. You might wanna stay away from him for a while…"

"Why?" asks Sodapop, who's stealing a cigarette out of my pack.

"Kathy broke up with him," I say this like it's the most normal thing ever. "He's sad about it."

"Whoa, what?" Soda gasps. Steve blinks, a shocked expression on his face as he leans against the porch railing.

"Yeah. He's rip-roarin' drunk in there. Crabby as hell. Sobbed on my shoulder for a while about how Kathy told him he needs a job."

"Poor guy," Soda mutters.

"He _does_ need a job, though," says Steve. "Hell, it could probably help his mom some."

I nod my agreement at him. Two-Bit's twenty years old and has never worked a day in his life. It was acceptable was he was eighteen and younger, but I'm sixteen and I have a job of my own. It ain't like it's that hard to get one.

"God damn," Steve moans after a second's pause. "It's hotter than Hades out here. I don't care if Two-Bit's in there, I'm goin' in."

Soda flashes me a wink; a charming wink - one that's gotten him out of many dilemmas in the past - and goes in to follow Steve.

I ash my cigarette and walk in.

* * *

"Hey, Soda, you remember that one Soc guy? Randy?"

Sodapop takes a huge bite of chicken. "Uh, is that the one Johnny killed?"

Steve says, "Nah, Randy's the one guy, the good guy, who helped us in the rumble, right? Along with that good lookin' Cherry broad?"

"Yeah," I chug my Pepsi. "I ran into him at the park today."

"Oh, yeah?" Sodapop asks.

"Yeah. And get this: he's, like, a _hippie_ now!"

"What?" Sodapop frowns. "Like one o' them people that listen to Credence Clearwater Revival and stuff?"

My brow furrows. "Um, I guess so. He looked weird. His hair was all long and he had a tie-dye headband on. He was playing this instrument with his hippie friend to get money."

"No kiddin'?" Steve snaps. "Guess his Socy parents don't wanna support someone like him anymore, huh?"

"Did he remember you, Pone?"

"Mm-hmm. He recognized me first. I couldn't even tell who he was. It was weird…"

Two-Bit pokes his greasy head in. He rubs his red, bloodshot eyes. "Uh…" he utters. "What time is it?"

"Almost 6:30."

Two-Bit says, "You guys got any aspirin?"

Steve snorts. "With the kid around, you know they do."

I try to ignore the insult. It ain't my fault I get hurt a lot. Trouble finds me, I don't try to find it. And I've come to discover that taking five aspirins is a lot more effective than taking one or two.

"I got such a headache," Two-Bit groans. "I feel miserable."

And he looks it too.

"Day drinking," Steve says nonchalantly. "Never does any favors."

"Amen to that."

* * *

I check the clock on the wall. 7:30. _Damn it, Dar_, I think. I'm supposed to pick Donna up at her house at eight. And I'm starting to wonder if Darry will even be home on time. I have to use his truck.

I get ready, nervously styling my hair.

It ain't like we're greasers anymore. I mean, we are, but it's hard to explain, just like most things these days. We've all pretty much stopped putting grease in our hair, except on special occasions, because the Socs eventually started to dress like greasers, and greasers sometimes like Socs, and now you can't even tell anybody apart anymore.

So it was eventually deemed uncool to have the same hair as a Soc. God, they just have to take everything from us, don't they? And I know it may be stupid to get upset about - it's just hair - but hey, at least it was something to call ours. The Socs didn't have hair and style like we did.

But now that I look back on it, it's just so juvenile to be fighting because someone is poor and someone is rich. And it's absolutely terrible that lives were lost because of a childish rivalry.

* * *

7:45.

"God damn you, Dar," I swear. I know that Darry might still be at work but I also doubt it. Darry's never been home this late before.

_Oh, God,_ I start to think. He's never been this late before. He always calls.

_He's dead. Dead in a car accident. He's hurt. He's—_

A knock on my door, breaking me out of my thoughts, and then Sodapop appears. "Hey, Darry just called. He's goin' out with some friends for the evening," He chuckles to himself. "I think he's got himself a girlfriend.

I try not to show my immense relief. I'm one paranoid bastard. But can you blame me?

Then I realize my dilemma. "Aw, shit," I think I say it quietly, but it sounds a lot louder than I hoped it would.

"What?"

"He's got the truck. How am I supposed to take Donna out tonight?"

"That," he replies, "is a good question. Why don't you just walk?"

I snort. "Yeah, she'll _really_ like that."

He laughs in my face, running his hand along the chipped paint on the doorframe.

I've since moved back in to my own room. Once I turned fifteen and the nightmares were officially gone for good, I decided that I was too old to be sharing a bed with my brother.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind, Pony."

I give him a look. He knows she would, he just likes to give me shit about how needy and whiny Donna is. Everyone does.

"Okay, okay. Two-Bit's still passed out on the couch. Why don't you borrow his car for the night? He ain't gonna care. He's drunk off his ass anyway."

"Uh … Soda, I'm no expert on this, but … aren't cars supposed to … I don't know, have brakes on them that actually work?" Two-Bit's car's brakes have been bad for as long as I can remember. Steve oftentimes has to repair them but they eventually give out again. It's happened more times than I can count.

Sodapop grins indulgently at my joke. I walk outside of my room and he lags behind, but he still talks. "Not to worry, kid. Stevie and I just recently fixed 'em up. They should be good for a while."

I walk up to Two-Bit's sleeping form. "Hey, hey, Two-Bit," I say.

He groans loudly, covering his ears. "What?"

I almost feel bad for taking advantage of my friend when he's in this kind of state. "Can I borrow your car?"

"What?" He sits up, face haggard and drawn. "Sure, God, I don't give a hang."

He flops back down immediately and I take the keys from off the kitchen table. "Don't be out too late tonight, kiddo," Soda chides.

"Remember the rubbers!" Steve shouts with a howl of laughter, making my skin crawl. "Better safe than sorry! Protection is—"

I slam the door and walk out before I can hear anymore.

* * *

"Hey, baby," Donna Millar says when she greets me. She slams the passenger door shut. "Riding the death-trap on wheels today, are we?"

"Sorry," I reply, but I find that I am not that sorry. "It was the only thing I could ride. But I am getting a new car soon. My brother told me yesterday that I can get one."

She nods. "Cool. You really need one."

"It_ is_ pretty cool, ain't it?"

She seems to ignore this and goes on, "God, this car scares me to death. I heard from Kathy about how this car has nearly killed the both of them more than once." She even starts to grip on the side of the door handle. Really tight.

Kathy and Donna were friends for a short while. They didn't hang out for a very long time because they were in different grades and Kathy graduated before they could get really close.

"That's true," I say, but I amend it by saying, "My brother Sodapop fixed it up a couple days ago, so it's all good."

She smiles and looks at me with bright blue eyes. It's the kind of sincere smile that makes me forget about how she acts when we're out in public.

It's almost as if she has split personalities. She acts so different in public - bitchy, outspoken to the point where it's rude - but when she's with me, she acts … more like herself, I'm guessing. She's almost like Angela, except Angel's a tough-as-nails broad even when she's not in public.

Because, unlike Angela, it's just a front Donna puts up. One I doubt she even knows that she does. I secretly think she subconciously does it to make people think she's cooler than she is. But I don't really think she has to do that. She'd be the coolest person I know if she'd just be herself.

This is why the gang doesn't understand my like for her. I appreciate a girl who can speak her mind, and no can do that like Donna can.

And she's not as bad as everyone tends to think. Only I know the true _her_.

"Good, good. Where are we goin' tonight, Pony?"

"I don't know. I figured we could go walkin' on the strip or stargazing or something."

Her face twists up, but it's not in a grimace. It's in an excited smile.

When I first introduced Donna to the gang, she acted nothing like I expected her to. I was skeptical to introduce her to them because … well, I was afraid they would scare her. Act indecent to her.

We may look like a bunch of menacing hoods, but she didn't even seem to notice. She mothered us all, scolded Steve for something that I can't even remember.

But they were all surprisingly decent to her, thank God. Decent just like that time when Steve's cousin came to visit.

Donna knew Two-Bit okay because of her times with Kathy, and so it was a little less awkward.

Donna turns up the radio loud. Blaringly loud. A mellow song plays. A girl with a haunting voice sings a song I've never heard before. But Donna knows it: she sings along.

"_When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go … and you've just had some kind of mushroom, and your mind is moving low_…"

The lyrics don't make much sense to me, but Donna just seems to love it, so I leave it be. When the song finally ends, she sighs. "Darn. I sometimes wish that song would never end. Isn't it a great song, Ponyboy?"

Donna digs some strange things. "Yeah," I agree.

"I swear, they just might be my favorite band. No, the Beatles are. No! The Doors. Oh, but I absolutely love Janis Joplin … she's such an inspiration. It's just too hard to pick, you know?"

Donna can talk a lot.

"I like Janis Joplin," I say. And it's only _somewhat_ true. She's okay. I don't know how she's really much of an inspiration, though. Janis Joplin is one person I've actually listened to in the last couple of years besides the Elvis music Steve and the rest of them have ingrained in to my brain as a child. Ruby has actually forced me to borrow some of her Janis Joplin records, along with some other hippie-like bands.

"It's so fun to expose you to some actually good music," Ruby always says.

I'm not too up-to-date on music from nowadays, like Donna and Ruby are. Except Ruby likes a lot of underground, hippie music. Donna just likes anything. Almost anything. She doesn't like the King. Who doesn't like Elvis? Socs, that's who.

Donna and Ruby may be nothing alike, but they share one thing in common: music taste.

We sit on the roof of Two-Bit's car, looking at stars in the middle of an abandoned stretch of land behind the junkyard, and I don't want this to end. I enjoy being in Donna's company, no matter how much I sometimes act like I don't.

"This car is so rusty," she whines. "I can't stand to sit on it."

There's a part of me that wants to tell her to get over it, but I don't.

So I shift to the grass and I lie in it, signaling her to come next to me. I wrap my arm around her.

"Pony, what's your favorite band?" She puts a lot of emphasis on music.

"I don't know," I say. "I don't have one."

"Everyone has one. It's a proven fact."

I highly doubt this. "I like Simon and Garfunkel, I guess. They're alright. A girl I know showed me them a couple years ago." Truth is, that girl is Cathy Carlson but I'm not going to tell her this. "I still think Elvis is really tuff. He's always gonna be the king."

She grimaces at my mention of Elvis. I know she hates Elvis. Oh,_ God_. She probably likes Hank Williams or something. Gag me with a knife.

"Somehow I doubt this," she spits, almost angrily, but I know she's just being her opinionated self. There's the Donna we all know and love.

She grins roguishly and then laughs, giving me a kiss.

We go to other places throughout the night, and we end up having a great time.

* * *

I am off the next day. I am off from work every Sunday, yet I still have to go in on Saturdays. It doesn't really bother me to have to go in on a Saturday, because Ruby works the same hours as me on that day. We don't get much done on those days though. Mostly we just goof around.

Darry doesn't have to work, but Soda does. Which leaves us to watching old reruns of "Bonanza" on TV. That we've seen thousands of times.

"Hey, Dar, can we get a car today?"

"Mmm … no."

"Why not?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he just pretends to be heavily enveloped in Dan Blocker's story.

I don't know why he seems to be so gung-ho on not wanting me to have a car, but I just shake it off.

I go in to my room and dig out the book Ruby gave me.

* * *

God, if I thought _The Carpetbaggers_ was bad…

This book is horrifying, yet wonderful and interesting in a way I can't describe. I can't exactly figure out the slang they're using, but I think I have a good idea about what most of it means.

* * *

Darry tells me to go pick up some milk at Garner's Market and I do, grateful for a distraction.

When I see Randy and Ocean Storm sitting by the front of the mart I think I'll go nuts.

They're doing the same thing they were doing yesterday, except Ocean Storm is playing a bongo drum today, but Randy's still playing that strange instrument.

"Hi, Ponyboy!" Randy waves and flashes the peace sign.

"Hey, Randy. Funny runnin' into you again, huh?"

"It is, it is," he says. He smiles a strange sort of wistful smile.

There's a silence that falls over us so I say, "Hey, Randy? What instrument is that?"

"It's called a sitar. It makes the most beautiful music. Ocean Storm taught me how to play a couple of months ago. I've been getting better everyday."

"You know what they say. 'Practice makes perfect'," Ocean Storm says. He's wearing round sunglasses, like John Lennon's. He rolls what I know is a joint. _Put that away, you blasted fool_, I can't help but think. He shouldn't be smoking that pot out in the open like that. It's really stupid of him. "You want some, cool cat?"

"Don't give him any, Ocean Storm," Randy says. "He's a good kid."

Ocean Storm goes on. He's floating big-time. "You're a cool cat, cool cat. We should call you the Cool Cat."

Randy looks at me and grins at his friend's asinine babble. He definitely seems more lucid than Ocean Storm.

I still can't stop staring at Randy. God, he's changed so much in the last few years. It almost seems impossible. It seems as though he's a wraith of what he used to be a lifetime ago.

How come it's been years since I've seen Randy and then all of a sudden I seem to be seeing him everywhere I turn? It's gotta be some weird fate thing. Two times in two days?

"We really gotta do lunch sometime," Randy persists. Again. "We can catch up. I'll tell ya what I been doin' with my life."

"Okay," is all I can think to say.

"Hey, you got a piece of paper?" he asks, his head swiveling from both Ocean Storm and back to me.

I shake my head, but Ocean Storm has a piece of ratty fabric and gives it to him. "It's good enough," Randy mutters.

He has a Sharpie marker in the pocket of his bell-bottom jeans. He scribbles something down on it and hands it to me.

"It's the address where I'm living at. And the phone number. Give me a call sometime, Ponyboy."

I wonder where this all came from. When he started to become … like this.

I stare down at the address written on the fabric. It's on a street where a hippie-like commune is. And, if I'm not mistaken, the one where M&M Carlson, Cathy Carlson's now-fourteen or fifteen year old brother took a bad acid trip when he was thirteen. And he hasn't been the same since. I hope Randy had nothing to do with giving that poor kid LSD. Because I don't know I'll do.

So I bid them adieu, to which they both reply "Peace" and go in to the store.

* * *

**Again, maybe you'll want to read this. **

Okay, so I've been trying to make as many historically-accurate references to things as possible.

The song that Donna and Ponyboy listen to is "White Rabbit" by the band Jefferson Airplane. The name of this album is "Surrealistic Pillow".

Dan Blocker played Eric "Hoss" Cartwright on the show "Bonanza". He died in 1972.

M&M Carlson is Cathy Carlson's younger brother in That Was Then, This is Now. He is a thirteen year old hippie and, SPOILER ALERT (lol, not really), almost overdoses on some acid at a hippie home. Yep.

And I think that's all worth an explanation.

Questions? Critiques? Anything?

Please review. :D


	3. It's Getting Near Dawn

**A/N: **This is the result of copious amounts of listening to Led Zeppelin and having nothing to do all day. Also, I've changed the genre of this. This chapter's a little too heavy to still be rated as "humor" so I am changing it to "drama". Thanks for the reviews! Special thanks to AlongtheBinding because your reviews rock!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything down below. Short, sad chapter. Cursing. Lots of cursing.

* * *

I grab the milk and go. When I exit the market, Randy and Ocean Storm are no longer there. But one of them has left their headband. I reach down to pick it up. It's soft, dirty, and tie-dyed.

I stride home with the gallon of milk I've just bought.

I fan myself with Randy or Ocean Storm's headband. It is just too hot outside. I really am starting to hate the summer. Part of me just wants to open this milk carton and chug it all down.

When I get back to the house, I see that Darry is still in the same place he was before. I collapse on to the ground. "Ugh …" I moan. "It's so hot outside."

"Imagine having to work in it all day," Darry reiterates.

I nod, impressed. He has a very valid point. At least I get my nice, air conditioned bookstore to sit and work in. Darry roofs houses all day in the blazing sun.

I put the milk in the refrigerator, and slam on to my bed. Deciding it's too hot in my room, I go out in to the living room.

It's literally just as scorching in there. "Are we, like, in a heat wave?"

"I don't know," says Darry stoically. "Maybe we are. I don't know. It feels like it, don't it?"

When his eyes don't divert from the television screen I start to wonder if he's mad at me or if he's just in a bad mood. "How was your date last night?" I ask him.

He gives me a strange look. "Date?"

"Yeah. Soda mentioned you were goin' out with some girl or something…"

Darry laughs and shakes his head, almost agitatedly. "Not a date, Ponyboy. Just had a drink with some guys from work."

"Okay, okay," I say. "So how was that?"

The phone's shrill rings stop Darry from saying whatever he was going to say next. I run to go pick it up. "'Lo?"

"Ponyboy Curtis," the voice simply says.

I grin - I recognize the voice. "Oh, hey, Terry." It's Terry Jones. He's a buddy of mine. I met him through Mark Jennings.

"Curtis, you comin' to the party tonight with that broad o' yours? Donna?"

I see Darry looking at me from the living room. "Oh, you havin' a party tonight? I got told nothing about it."

"Just tell me if you're goin' or not."

I want to go, but - "I don't know, man. I don't know if Donna is gonna want to, and I got work tomorrow…"

I can hear him sigh over the line. "Come on, man. Donna ain't gonna mind goin'. She likes these parties, don't she?" he says. "And she don't even have to come anyway. You can come by yourself. You need a new girl anyway. And you don't have to stay that long if you don't wanna. But you gotta make an appearance, Curtis."

I ignore the last part. "I don't need a new girl," I huff defensively. I cross my arms against my chest even though Terry can't see me.

"Okay. Okay, Curtis. Whatever you say," I can hear him smile over the line. "But you're comin' tonight. No matter what."

Damn Terry and his peer pressures. I sigh, "Sure, I'll be there. Me and Donna'll come. What time does it start tonight?" I feel bad for saying Donna will be there when she may not want to be.

"I don't know. Whenever you want, I guess. Seven. Seven. No, uh … six. No. Seven. Seven." He hangs up.

Terry's as incomprehensible as _A Clockwork Orange_, and that's saying something.

"Okay…" I mutter.

"Who was that, Pony?" Darry yells.

"My friend," I say, because I don't think Darry likes Terry Jones that much. Terry Jones tends to skip class. He tends to smoke weed and drink. A lot. But he's a good guy, despite acting like an asshole a lot. He's helped me out a lot in the past.

"Oh?" he says. "And which friend is this?"

I walk in to the living room. I bite my lip nervously. "Terry Jones."

"Oh," Darry replies in that way. I can tell he has a few words he wants to say about Terry.

"Yeah … he asked me to go to a party at his house tonight."

"Aw," Darry stands up, exasperated. "Ponyboy, you got work in the morning! You're not gonna want to—"

I cut him off. "Darry, it's okay. I'll be home before eleven, I promise."

Darry blinks. "Okay. Whatever. You're almost seventeen. You can make your own decisions. Fine. _Go_."

"Uh … okay…" I study him to make sure he's not on something. I feel his forehead. "Darry, are you feeling okay?"

"No, no," he says curtly. "I'm fine."

And he goes back to watching TV, ignoring me.

* * *

I pick up the phone and quickly dial Donna's number. As the phone rings I pray to God that her father doesn't answer.

Luckily, it's Donna that picks up.

"Hey, Donna," I say, clutching the phone tightly in my hand.

"Hey, Pony," Donna responds. "What's up?"

"Nothin' really…" I mutter. "Hey, Terry asked me to go to a party tonight. You wanna come with me?"

She almost scoffs. "Terry? Like, Terry Jones?" She breathes out a sigh. "Ewww. He's so scummy."

"Scummy?"

"I can't stand Terry Jones. If you truly loved me you would know that, Ponyboy Curtis."

My eyes go wide. "_What_!? How does that have anything to do with—" I realize if I don't stop myself I'll end up saying something I'll regret. I regain my composure and calm myself down. "Listen, are you gonna go with me or not?"

"What time is the party tonight?"

"Seven … I think."

"You think?" she snaps. "You should know for certain, don't you think?"

"Donna, you know how Terry is—"

"Fine. Pick me up at seven."

"Fine."

Click.

I light a cigarette in the house. I need one.

* * *

I use Darry's truck to pick Donna up. She kisses me and smiles, and I know she's already forgotten about our "fight".

"How are you today, baby?" she asks, cranking up the radio.

"Good. You?"

"Oh, it's just been a rough day. My brother Robert just got arrested this morning for stealin' at a grocery store. My daddy had to bail him out. He musta had enough of Robert. Kicked him out."

Oh. That's why she was crabby this morning. Not that she's never _not_ crabby. Just … abnormally crabby. Crabbier than usual.

Robert Millar is a fifteen year old little punk. Annoying as hell, and actually thinks he's cool for doing what he does. I wonder if that's how Dallas Winston came _really_ across when he stole and swore.

"I'm sorry, Donna." And I am. Her dad and brother are always fighting, according to Donna.

She leans over and kisses me. "It's okay. I'm just real worried about him. I wish they'd stop fighting about everything."

I nod with sympathy and empathy. I feel for her. The way I've heard her father and brother fight reminds me of how me and Darry used to fight all the time.

Donna's mom is a lovely lady. She's soft spoken (really unlike her daughter) and friendly. She doesn't work and makes brownies for me and makes extras to give to my brothers all the time.

Donna gets her looks from her mother. It's very obvious; they're the spitting image of each other, the way Darry and my dad are.

"We should get goin'," I mutter, turning the music down. She instantly turns it back up.

When I go to flip it back off, she slaps my hand. "Ponyboy, leave it on! This is my song!"

I toss a glance her way. "Every song is your song."

She grins.

* * *

I walk with Donna up to Terry Jones's house and I knock on his front door. I can hear the music already from the second I get out of the car. And as we get closer, it just gets louder and louder. Deafening, almost.

A guy with shaggy, white-blond hair answers. It's a guy I don't recognize. He points us inside the house.

There are a lot of people here I don't recognize. Terry's parties are notorious; I shouldn't have expected any different. They get almost bigger than Buck's parties.

Terry sees me and waves enthusiastically, but when he sees Donna, he stops. Terry doesn't like Donna, much to my dismay.

Donna sees a girl she likes and goes over to her. But not before she kisses me goodbye and tells me she'll see me in a few.

Terry Jones claps me on the back and has to shout over the volume of the music.

I sit on the ground next to Curly Shepard and some random hippie. They seem to be appearing everywhere. The hippies, I mean. They seem to be popping up all over Tulsa. But everyone comes to Terry's parties - Socs, hippies, greasers, everyone.

"Hey, Shepard," I shout in his ear. "How's it been, man? Haven't seen you in forever!"

"Not good, Curtis. Not good," he says, equally as loud. He takes a puff off his cigarette. "My number's up. I gotta go to 'Nam."

It's unexpected and if I were standing I'd probably collapse. I feel like I've just been sucker-punched. "Aw, no, _no_. Shit, Curly…"

"Yep," He takes a swig of his beer. "Got the letter today."

"But … but you only just turned eighteen, right?" I say. "You got another year of high school…"

Curly snorts. He's so stoic, so calm, he reminds me of Tim. Especially now. "I dropped out, Ponyboy. I thought you knew that."

"Oh, God_damn_…"

"Yeah, but at least you're settled, you Goddamn lucky bastard. Mr. Big-Shot college guy. Fucking hell…" He drifts off but then talks again. "It's okay. I ain't too scared. It ain't like I got anything better to do. Just some gooks, right? What can they do?"

I look around to see everyone else in the room, having a good time, perfectly oblivious to Curly's tribulation.

I've read about the war. Seen stories about it on TV. I remember the talk from Walter Cronkite about how terrible this war is. How many lives are lost a day. It's sad to admit, but I've been trying not to think about it. I haven't paid much attention because I didn't know anyone in the war. I had no one to worry about. "They can do a lot…" I say, but the music is so loud Curly either can't hear me or acts like he can't.

I shake him. "Curly, you gotta run from this. You can't go to Vietnam."

"What am I gonna do, huh?" Curly becomes enraged. He throws the bottle of beer at the wall. I watch as it shatters, and amber liquid pours down the wall. No one seems to notice it but us. "I can't run. Only fuckin' cowards run. I ain't gonna do that. I sure as shit ain't gonna hurt myself to get out of it. I'm screwed. Oh well…"

"Does Tim know? Christ, does anybody know?"

"I told Lou," he replies, referring to one of his friends in his brothers gang. "And you, Curtis."

"Curly," I say, dumfounded. "When are you planning on telling your brother or sister about this?"

He rubs his face. "Oh, Christ. I didn't even think about telling Angie about this," He swallows. "It would crush her."

I shake my head sympathetically and wrap my arm around his shoulders. Part of me expects him to shove me off him, but he doesn't.

"You know what, Ponyboy?" he eventually says. "I think I'm jealous of you. I ain't never been as smart as you … or even as smart as Tim. And you know what else? I'm fuckin' scared as hell. I may not act like it, but … but, shit! What am I gonna do?"

This is the most amount of emotion I've ever seen Curly Shepard display ever in all the years I've known him. He's really making me regret the choice of coming tonight.

Before this he seemed to be taking this surprisingly well.

As he drawls on, I grab someone's cup of alcohol and take a huge swig to get a buzz.

We both need one.

* * *

I can't find Donna anywhere. The hippie sitting next to Curly starts to sing loudly. Louder over the music and very out of tune. "_I BEEEN WAITIN' SOOOO LOOOOONG. TO BE WHERE I'M GOIN'... IN THE SUNSHINE OF YOUR LOOOOOOOOOOOVE_!"

"Shut the fuck up, man," Curly tells him. The hippie doesn't seem to notice Curly even said anything. Curly shakes his head. "Fuckin' flower people, man."

The door opens again, and I see Ruby. She sees me instantly and smiles at me. She turns back to her friends, says something, and walks over to me.

She throws her arms around me. "Hi, Ponyboy!" she says happily. She smells like drugs and beer. "How are you today? Funny seeing you here, huh? What a small world!"

I laugh. "Hey, Ruby," When she starts to sway, I ask, "Are you drunk?"

She puts her waist-length blonde hair in to a braid. She glares at me. "A little. But why does it matter? Oh, Pony, you look so cute tonight."

I try to cover the fact that I'm blushing profusely. "Thanks, Ruby…"

She leans close to my face. "Come with me, Ponyboy!" She grabs my hand and pulls me along to the back of the house.

"Where are we going?" I ask with a laugh.

"On an adventure…"

I reluctantly follow her outside.

I have no idea what I'm getting in to.

* * *

**It's time for ... let's see how many references you got this time!**

-Terry Jones is a friend of Mark and Bryon, in _That Was Then, This is Now_.

-Walter Cronkite was an anchorman for CBS Evening News. Every night he spoke about the casualties in Vietnam in the 1960s. He died in 2009.

Vietnam War History Time: 

The Vietnam War was the first war with actual, day-to-day coverage that was shown on the news and talked about on radio stations. There was so much more exposure to this war to the United States than any other war in history. Daily, there were stories and numbers of casualties (deaths), and actual clips of brave soldiers fighting in the war. This is what made the Vietnam War seem so much more terrible to people than the other wars. Like, not many people knew about the Korean War or cared because there wasn't as much coverage on it. My grandmother grew up around the time of the Korean War and had no idea about its existence until M*A*S*H (a show about the Korean War) came on TV.

There. You guys get a history lesson. Yay.

-The song the drunk hippie sings is "Sunshine of Your Love" by Cream. The album is "Disraeli Gears".

Okay! Once again, thanks for the reviews, and pardon any typos.


	4. Heaven Holds a Place for Those Who Pray

**A/N: **Hey! Thanks for all of the reviews, guys! They're all so lovely and I appreciate them all! :) This is my favorite chapter in the story so far. The plot thickens here...

**Disclaimer: **Warning: swearing, drug abuse, etc. I don't own the Outsiders or anything I reference to down there.

* * *

I don't like parties. I would much rather sit inside my house with a good book or maybe go see a movie. I hate this.

Ruby leads me to the back of the house. I can't make her out in the dark, but I can tell that she's guiding me to a room far away from the living room.

When my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see about ten other people, all sitting in a circle.

There's music playing from a record player, but it's annoying because you can still hear the boisterous music resonating throughout the rest of the house. I hate all the noise. It's confusing to hear so many voices and noises at one time.

The smell of burning incense fills my senses. It's so strong, it's all I can think about. It smells sweet, but I can already feel the headache forming.

Ruby sits next to a guy who looks strikingly similar to Bob Dylan.

I shift my weight uncomfortably and stand there, unsure of what I'm even doing here.

A kid with a big, bushy beard and thick eyebrows, and a really bad British accent speaks up first. "Who's this cat, Kitten?"

_Cat._ They always say cat. All of them.

I assume he's talking to Ruby because he's looking at her, but I can't be too sure because I've never heard her referred to as "kitten".

I speak up for myself because it doesn't seem like Ruby is going to. "Ponyboy Curtis," I say shyly.

"Oh, my," a girl sitting next to me breathes. She has daisies woven in to her hair. "That's such a beautiful name! Who gave it to you?"

"My parents?" I answer like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And, to me, it is. And it should be to them, too. Hippies are the most clueless people ever.

And then I realize she gave me a compliment and I blush. "Uh … thanks. Not too many other people seem to think so."

I laugh, and they all seem to laugh along with me.

"I think it's beautiful," Ruby tells me as she brushes greaseless hair out of my eyes.

The guy with the British accent nods. "Want a fag?"

I blink to cover my surprise. "Uh…" I stutter. "A what?"

Ruby whispers in my ear, "It's British slang for a cigarette. Take one! Oscar's not gonna bite ya!"

She giggles, putting her hand over her mouth to cover the gap in her teeth. She looks like Pattie Boyd when she smiles. I tell her all the time that she shouldn't try to hide her grins. But she always says her gap is ugly. But she's beautiful, especially when she's smiling. That's when her eyes light up.

I lean over Ruby to take the cancer stick from him. I laugh a bit too crazily, embarrassed that I didn't know what that meant. "Thanks, man," I say.

Ruby and I sit in quiet for a few minutes. Everyone else is in their own world, conversing with others. Then, without any warning, she climbs on to my lap. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I push her off.

"No, Ruby … I gotta go."

"Go?" she replies, sounding like a little kid. "Go where?"

"I gotta go find Donna. _My girlfriend_."

I know Ruby is drunk. It's completely evident in her mannerisms and the way she's been acting. She's usually so much more sophisticated and normal than this. But now, I don't even know.

"No," she moans. She roughly cups my head in her hands. "Stay here with me! Don't you like me?"

Oh, God. This is taking a step towards awkward. I shove her off my lap. "'Course I like you. I just gotta … leave now…"

I can't say anything else because she turns my head to face her. She kisses me full on the mouth.

And I'm absolutely petrified. I don't know what to do at all. I want to break the kiss but I don't. I can't. Because even though I can taste the alcohol on her breath, it's one of the greatest kisses I've ever had.

I break the kiss because it was starting to go towards full-on make-out territory. I see a flash of Donna in my mind, and I know I made a mistake. I feel guilt creeping up, threatening to flood over me.

But as I rehash the details of what just happened it doesn't seem that bad. Ruby kissed _me_. What was I supposed to do?

But then the internal debate starts. _Stop tryin' to rationalize things, Ponyboy_, a voice in the back of my mind says. It sounds like Dallas Winston. _You didn't break the kiss so you're just as guilty as she is._

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. _

I cheated on Donna. With Ruby Robinson.

Oh, glory. What am I gonna tell her? _Am _I gonna tell her? Donna doesn't need to know. It was just an innocent little kiss, right?

I shake my head, ashamed at me and my terrible thoughts. Of course I'm gonna have to tell her.

I barely realize that while I was staring in to space, Ruby's been kissing my neck.

I feel myself blush.

"Oh, golly," I sputter. I feel like I'm gonna start bawling. "Ruby, stop it!" I say assertively. "You don't want this. You're drunk."

Ruby suddenly looks on the verge of tears. Oh, gosh, I made her cry. There is no worse feeling in the world than making a girl cry. I suddenly feel terrible for yelling at her.

"Aw, shit…" I mutter. I feel bad.

She swipes at her eyes. "I just really like you, Ponykid," I can't help but wonder where she got that nickname. "You can be the Romeo to my Juliet."

I bite my lip and fathom this for a second. Would I ever go with Ruby? My friend from work? Because that's all I've ever thought of her as. A friend from work.

But then I see her smile - her beautiful smile, even with the gap.

I shut my mind off.

This is uncomfortable. I really need to find Donna because I haven't seen her since we first got here.

Ruby looks so sad, though. In an attempt to make her feel better, I say, "Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?" It works well because her last name is Robinson. Ruby loves movies almost as much as I do, and we often quote them around each other.

I hope she'll get my joke in her state. I think she does because she gives a small, shuddery laugh.

I push myself away from the circle.

As I walk back in to the main room, I try to tell myself that everything Ruby said and did doesn't matter. But deep down inside I know that, even in accidental drunken outbursts, there's a bit of truth. No matter how minute it is, she has feelings for me.

And with a jolt in my stomach I realize that I may have feelings for her, too.

* * *

I look on the clock on Terry's wall to see that it's 10:30.

The party's in full-swing now. Everyone who is everyone is here, and I'm surprised I haven't seen Randy or Ocean Storm yet.

My eyes scan the crowd for Donna. I see Cherry Valance, and as soon as she catches my eye we both look away. We _don't_ talk to each other. We just don't.

Finally I see Donna. She's lying on an empty couch. Her short hair is out of control and her eye make-up is smudged.

She's drunk.

Well, I guess I'm the designated driver for tonight.

"Come on, Donna," I say, gently nudging her. In the background I can faintly hear some dreary, slow, and psychedelic music. Some kids are dropping stuff in to people's drinks. The party's getting crazy.

Donna's out cold. She's dead weight to me and I can't get her up. I hope she's okay. I realize I'm going to have to carry her out to the car myself.

Maybe to avoid getting a hernia for a couple minutes, I decide to just let her lie there. I wonder who got her drunk.

I walk out of Terry's house to clear my head. I need some fresh air from all that incense. And it was getting a little too crowded and rowdy in there.

I stroll along slowly. There's a chill in the air, despite it being summer, and I shiver in the breeze.

I see a huddled up form sitting perched up to the side of the mini-mart. It's closed for the night, yet he just sits there.

It's a homeless guy, or so I assume. He's a sickly pale, and the light from the streetlamps don't do him any favors at all. The dark bags under his eyes are his most prominent feature.

I don't want to look at him. There's something off about him. Something I can't put my finger on. And he gives me the creeps.

I try to bypass him. Then, as I cautiously approach closer, I see the needles. He's injecting himself with that shit.

I turn the other way immediately, but I think he spots me.

"Hey! Hey, you!" he calls out. "Come over here, kid."

My face forms a grimace as I slowly turn around. I do as I am told wordlessly. This guy is on drugs. Hard drugs. And I'm not talking the marijuana Curly sometimes smokes. Heroin.

His eyes are a cold, unfeeling brown. They're nearly the same shade as Sodapop's but they lack the life and bounciness his always seem to have.

The guy pulls a heater out of his ripped and tattered trench coat.

My eyes widen and I pale. I breathe out of my mouth and in through my nose to calm myself down. The gun shakes unsteadily in his hand. One little accident … one little slip of the hands and BAM! I could be dead.

I manage to find my voice. It sounds shaky when I say, "I-I don't want any trouble…" I don't know why I say it. It sounds like something someone from a movie would say.

He walks toward me and I instinctively take a step back.

"Your wallet," He licks his lips. When I don't do anything he screams, "GIVE ME YOUR WALLET!"

The blade in my pocket is not going to help me at all in this situation. As much as it kills me to do so, I do what he says and hand over my wallet and all the money inside it.

I can't believe this guy is just robbing me in the middle of the street.

But I'm scared. This robber can kill me anytime he well pleases.

"Give me your shirt." He points the heater at me. His voice is disgusting and raw, like his vocal cords got rubbed against sandpaper.

I regard him blankly. Is this guy serious? "What?"

"YOU HEARD ME! GIVE ME YOUR SHIRT!"

I don't want to show him my fear. I want him to keep yelling so maybe he can draw attention to himself. Then someone can help me out of this.

But the only way to make him yell is to aggravate him. And I don't want to risk that. The heater in his hand can do a whole lot more damage than my smartass mouth could.

I take off my shirt and give it to him.

"Your shoes," he rasps. "Give me 'em."

I can't help myself. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"_Give me your shoes_," he growls, his fingers tightening their grip around the gun, "or you'll meet your maker."

And from the look in his eyes, I don't doubt it.

I almost expect him to take my pants too, but he doesn't.

Instead, he runs closer to me. Without me expecting it, he swings his gun around as hard as he can and pistol-whips me in the face.

I'm knocked to the ground. I fall hard.

"What the hell?" I choke, but I can't get much out because blood pours out of my mouth and explodes out of my nose like a geyser. I can already feel the swelling in my face starting. I make sure I have all my teeth in my mouth before I do anything else. "I gave you everything you wanted!"

I finally get up off the ground and tackle this guy. He's probably in his late twenties or so; really skinny and has a wicked gleam in his eye.

I knock the wind out of him, and he sits there, dazed. His eyes are glazed over and he's moving sluggishly.

While I have the chance I rip the gun out of his hand and throw it in to a nearby sewer.

"You motherfucker!" he yells right in to my ear. I'm nearly paralyzed with fear and it seems like I'm moving on automatic pilot.

His eyes go wild. He throws his fists up in the air to try to punch me, but he misses, and only hits my shoulder. I can see the blood that's pouring from my face getting all over him as I lean over him. My knees are on his chest.

I knock him once in his face and then I get up, because he's useless without that gun. I contemplate running to the hills, terrified out of my mind.

But he runs off first, grabbing all of his drug paraphernalia in a haste.

And I'm left to stand there, dumfounded. My eyes are wide and my hands tremble in fear. Now I have to walk home without a shirt, money, or shoes.

I eventually start to run as a cathartic release and mostly because I don't want to be here anymore. Paranoia settles in my stomach. This guy could have _killed_ me.

My entire face is throbbing and I can feel where he punched me in the shoulder.

I'm breathless by the time I get back to Terry's.

I pick Donna up off the couch and carry her to the car. I'm too impatient to try and wake her up. We need to get out of here before something even crazier starts to happen.

I precariously throw her in to the backseat of the truck. She doesn't even stir.

As I try to start the car, nothing happens. It doesn't even turn on. "Oh, no…" Did I forget gas? No, I filled her up yesterday. I try to start it multiple times before I realize something:

It's got to be the battery.

And in this split moment, I'm so mad, sad, confused, and frightened, that the next thing I do is the most idiotic and irrational thing ever. It's all a blur.

I decide to start running out of the car and up to Terry's house. And then, for some unfathomable reason, before I can tell what I am actually going to do, I close my eyes and drive my fist in to a brick wall as hard as I can.

Really hard.

"Oh, _FUCK_!"

It hurts. Like nothing I've ever felt before. There's a sickening crack sound and when I try to move my hand I end up making myself scream.

I bite the inside of cheek to keep myself from crying.

I go inside to see if someone can drive us home. There's no possible way we can get ourselves home without a ride from someone else.

I mentally kick myself. Why did I have to do that? I am such an idiot. Darry's right. I _don't _use my head.

* * *

So it turns out that everyone is either too drunk or too high to drive us home. It makes me wonder how they're going to get home themselves.

"What happened to you, Curtis?" Terry asks me.

I ignore him, because I would end up snapping at him and Terry doesn't deserve that. And I don't want to be here anymore and talking to him would make me have to stay longer.

I use Terry's phone and call the first person that comes to mind.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Steve…" The way I'm talking makes it sound like there's water in my lungs.

"What do you want, kid? And why are you callin' me?"

"Oh, no reason," I snap bitterly. "Just wanted to see how your night's been goin'. Maybe make some small talk.

Steve heaves a sigh. "I don't have time for this, smartass. What do ya need?"

"Can you pick me and Donna up from Terry's house?"

He scoffs. "That little punk? Screw him. And don't you got the truck tonight?"

I bite my lip and stick a finger in my ear to block the roar of the party. "Well, the truck—"

He cuts me off. I just wish he'd give me the chance to explain what happened. "Give me a reason why I should pick you up."

Something inside my snaps. I'm not in the mood for this.

"Jesus, Steve. You're one sorry son of a bitch, ya know that? You want a couple reasons? Is that it? I'll give you a couple reasons why, Steve. Donna is drunk. I had to literally drag her to the backseat of the truck, where she's sleepin' now. And I can't take her home 'cause the truck's battery is dead," I tap my chin even though he can't see me. "What else is there? Oh, I may or may not have just broken my hand…"

"Broke your hand?" asks Steve. "How?"

"It don't matter now. Oh yeah, and did I mention that I got robbed and held at gunpoint by a fucking lunatic?" I squeeze the bridge of my nose, careful of where I got hit.

I hear Steve suck in a harsh breath. "Shit. Someone got you at gunpoint? Jesus Christ. Ponyboy, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I say, my voice gravel. "Just got hit in the face with his heater. Just pick us up."

"Are you drunk or right now? Are you sure you're not too hurt?"

"Everything's just fine and dandy," I say. "I ain't drunk. I just don't got any money or shoes. Or … a shirt for that matter."

"What do you mean?" he says frantically, rushed and anxious. "You're gonna have to be more clear, kid. Did the robber take that stuff from you? I'm callin' your brothers."

"NO!" I yell. I calm myself down. "Yeah, he took everything except my pants. But don't call my brothers. I don't want to worry them. Do you really want to worry Sodapop?"

It may or may not be a low blow but it's the only I can get Steve to do what I want.

Steve sighs angrily. "You little shit. I'm on my way, but I swear to God, I'm takin' you to a hospital."

"What? Why?"

"Are you sure you're not fuckin' high? Didn't you say you broke your hand?"

"Um…" I mutter. "It's probably not broke. It only hurts a little bit." I grab my hand to see if it still hurts. "Ow! Yeah, it's probably broke. But it ain't a big deal. I don't need a hospital. It's okay."

I can pretty much see him roll his eyes over the phone. "How'd you do it anyway?"

"What?" The music suddenly gets louder. "What did you say?"

"How'd you break your hand?"

"Uh … I kind of punched a wall."

He cackles. "You dumbass. I'll be there in five."

I slam the phone down. God damn him.

* * *

**What time is? Reference time! Gather 'round, children. **

-A fag is exactly what Ruby said. English slang for cigarette.

-Pattie Boyd was a model. She was married to George Harrison, and later got with Eric Clapton.

-"Ponykid" is a nickname I've seen in multiple fanfics but I don't believe it is anywhere in the canon material.

-The line Ruby says to Ponyboy about Romeo and Juliet is obviously a Shakespeare reference.

-The "Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?" is from _the Graduate_. Immediately watch that movie if you haven't yet.

-The slow, dreary, and psychedelic song in my mind is most likely "Venus in Furs" by the Velvet Underground, but it could be any song your imagination well pleases.

* * *

**Bonus A/N: **Poll: Do you, my fellow writers (and this is going out to the kiddos who write on this site), tell your parents about what you write and show them all your work? I don't, but I was wondering if other people do. My mother knows I write but I refuse to let her read it. I don't know, man. I was curious.

I hope Pony isn't OOC. He's almost seventeen, for Christ's sakes, and I still think he's pretty innocent for being that age. But regardless, a seventeen year-old Ponyboy in my mind is definitely going to be different than fourteen year-old Ponyboy. Especially after Johnny's and Dally's deaths.

Thanks!


	5. So Happy Together

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. New chapter, y'all. Sorry for the wait! I've been extremely addicted to _Supernatural_ as of late (I watched five seasons in two weeks. Homework be damned) and I even wrote a fic for it, but I took it down because I want to make some changes. And writing for a TV show is so much more difficult than writing for a book. Jeez!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything mentioned down below. Pardon any typos, and lots of cursing. This is a short, extremely short chapter. And for that, I am _extremely_ sorry. The next chapter is longer, I promise.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ you…" I can hear Steve saying. "I can't fucking _believe _you made me drive all the way out here…"

I tune him out. "Well, fine," I snap, "you could have just left me at the party."

Steve snorts. "Yeah, 'cause that wouldn't make Muscles bust a Goddamn vein. And 'sides," He gives me a glance my way, and his voice softens, "you're kind of hurt anyway."

I smile and resist the urge to stick my tongue out. But I know that if I do that, Steve would kick me out and make me walk home by myself.

Donna's piled in the backseat of Steve's car, and Steve can't stop bitching. "And you know what else is so fan-fucking-tastic?"

"What is that?" I goad with a laugh. I grip my burning hand carefully. Bite the inside of my cheek.

Before he can say anything, I see movement in the backseat of the car. And then, Donna's blonde head pops up. "Whaaa…" she mumbles drearily.

"Hey, Donna," I say to her.

"Where are we…? Oh, God," she says suddenly. "Oh, God."

"What?" Steve and I say in unison.

"Stop the car! Stop it!"

Me and Steve stare back at Donna as he stomps on the break. "What?" he shouts again.

"I'm gonna … I'm gonna be sick. _Uuuuuggghhhh_!"

I hop out of the car immediately, helping Donna find her way out. "If you puke in my car, bitch…" I hear Steve say. He says it quietly, and I'm sure it was unintentional that I heard it.

"Hey!" I cry as I basically carry her out. "Don't call her a bitch!"

Steve laughs in my face, and that's when I really want to punch him. But punching him with a broken hand may be a difficult thing to do. Almost more difficult than carrying your intoxicated girlfriend out of a car and on to a grass field. Steve blows me a kiss mockingly. I have to grind my teeth together to keep myself from saying the retort on my mind.

She pukes her guts out on the grass, and I would hold her hair back but it's so short that would be pretty much pointless.

Donna looks up to me in between heaves. "Okay," she says assertively, sounding much more sober. "Okay. I'm okay now."

"You sure?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, I'm good. Pick me up, and take me home, Ponyboy."

Steve's mouth forms a smug, almost eerie grin. His voice mocks the crack of a whip. "_Wuh-psssh! Wuh-psssh_! Ponyboy's whipped! Ponyboy's whipped!"

"You shut your mouth, Steve Randle, or I _will_ hurt you!" comes Donna's swift reply.

And Steve instantly shuts up.

_Wuh-psssh. Wuh-psssh._

Everyone is whipped for Donna.

* * *

"You sure you're okay?" I ask Donna as she gets out of the car, albeit unsteadily.

"Ponyboy, I'm fine. The only thing wounded is my pride." She laughs shakily, making me think she's still not too sober.

I smile at my shoes. "It's okay. The only ones you ralphed in front of was me and Steve."

"Ponyboy, why are you shirtless?"

"I, uh…" I grimace as I rub my broken hand. It's killing me, and the pain seems to be increasing by the second.

"Are you okay?" Donna gasps. "Oh, my! Ponyboy, your face is bleeding! I—"

"It's all good. Just go home and get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."

I don't walk her up to the door, even though there's a part of me that tells me I should.

"Love you!"

"Love you too," I mumble.

* * *

"Just tell me, Ponyboy. Just tell me."

"Tell you what?" I reply irritably.

I close my eyes and lean against the car door, hoping to block out of some of the pain radiating through me. But in the stillness of the night, I can hear the gunman's raspy voice. The dark look in his eye. The scar along his jaw line. His—

"What happened? Tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," Steve says. "For fuck's sake. What happened tonight? Before you broke your hand?"

I inwardly groan. I figure I'll have to tell him sooner or later. "Well, I found out that Donna was drunk, and I decided to go take a walk, ya dig?"

"Why would you take a walk in Terry's neighborhood? Don't you know there are—"

"Listen, do you want me to tell the story or not?"

"Fine," he mumbles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Go on. You took a walk. And then what happened?"

"And by the corner store, there was a guy just … sitting there. Well, I turned around right away. He was so creepy!"

Steve nods. "Good idea. Maybe the smartest one you've had all night."

I bite my tongue. "Whatever. And then, he called me to come over there, and—"

"Oh, let me guess," he interjected. "Ponyboy Michael Curtis, golden child, the ever so compassionate, felt the need to comfort this poor, tortured soul, maybe giving him those puppy dog eyes of yours that—"

"Steve! Cut it out! Are you gonna let me tell it?"

He laughs like a deranged hyena. "Fine, fine. I'll stop, I'll stop."

"And before I could do anything, he held a heater up to me. Took my money! And my shirt! And my shoes!"

"Damn! And then what?"

"He pistol-whipped me! Man, I gave him everything he wanted too. And those were my good shoes. Now I'm gonna have to buy a new pair."

Steve looks grim and sort of sick all of a sudden. "How'd you get away?"

"Took the gun and threw it in the sewer," I mutter sheepishly. "Wasn't that hard to fight him without the heater."

He sighs. "Why'd you call _me_?"

He knows why I didn't call my brothers. But why didn't I call Two-Bit? "I don't know," I say. "I don't really know."

"You coulda called Two-Bit."

"Yeah, but he's real sad about Kathy breakin' up with him and everything. Didn't know if I wanted to bother him."

"Oh," He nods his condolences. "That's tough. Poor guy."

I nod.

* * *

"Wait," Steve turns the radio down and makes a sharp right turn. "We gotta stop at my house."

"Why?"

"I'll be right back."

He goes into his house, and I sit there.

"_I can't see me lovin' nobody but you … for all my life. When you're with me, baby, the skies'll be blue…"_

I turn it off because I absolutely hate it.

* * *

I hear the screen door slam, and then, Steve is climbing back in the car. He carries a small, white bundle under his arm.

"Here," He hands it to me.

"What?"

"A shirt, dumbass," he says. "You can't go to the doctor without a shirt."

"Oh."

"Yeah, '_oh_'."

"But what about my shoes?"

"Oh!" he exclaims. He leans back and twists his body around so he's facing the backseat. "Here," he grumbles. "I got an extra pair."

"Thanks, man!" I say.

I slide the shoes on, but it takes a long time with my bum hand. And putting the DX t-shirt on is almost worse.

The shoes are slightly small (puberty sucks! My feet got huge! I got huge! I always wanted to be tall, but now that I'm taller than Steve and Sodapop I kind of hate it! However, running track is easier with long legs. That's the only advantage…) but I wear them.

"No problem," he says.

I smile.

* * *

"Give it to me straight, Doc. How long does he have to live?"

The joke sends Steve into a fit of laughter but the doctor appears unamused.

The doctor rounds on him, but doesn't answer his question. "And who are you?"

"I'm - I'm his cousin's sister's brother," he says.

"So … you're his cousin?" The doctor turns and leaves, writing something on a clipboard. He faces us one more time and says, "We'll do an x-ray soon."

I choke out a laugh. "Moron," I say between fake coughs.

"Hey, don't be a smartass. I didn't have to pick you up, ya know. Maybe I shouldn't have. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble. But I ain't a moron, moron."

I say sagely, "All morons hate when you call them a moron."

Dr. Bates comes back in.

"How did this happen anyway?" Dr. Bates asks good naturedly.

"We were wrestling," I supply easily. "Roughhousing."

"And, ya know, as they say," Steve grins, "boys will be boys, huh?"

The doctor shakes his head with a smile, and turns to me.

We do the x-ray, which I hate. It requires having to bend your wrist in ways that are seemingly impossible for people even without broken wrists.

And then:

"Broken wrist. It's not a bad break. You should only have the cast on for about four to six weeks. You also broke two of your fingers, so the cast will have to wrap around those so they can heal properly."

"Awww…" I moan. "Thanks, doc."

They put the cast on my wrist. It's bulky and white, already scratching me and annoying.

* * *

On the way home, Steve says, "We have to practice what we're going to say."

"What?" I laugh. "Why?"

"You have to practice what you're going to say. Say something. Explain why you've broken your hand. Practice."

I laugh inwardly. His choice of words remind me of a movie I've just recently seen. I actually saw it with Ruby after we got off work at the beginning of summer. So, I quote, "In _H_artford, _H_ereford, and _H_ampshire, _h_urricanes_ h_ardly ever _h_appen."

"What the actual hell?" He obviously doesn't get my joke. "Like, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"It was a reference to a movie, Steve," I say. "When you said that, you reminded me of Rex Harrison in—"

He holds his hand out to stop me, cutting me off. He looks like he's going to say something else but he drops it. "Really, though. What are you gonna say?"

"The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain." I can't fight the grin spreading on my face.

"You little shit. I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, but you're so in trouble, I'm sure."

"Why?" I ask. "It ain't my fault some freak robbed me."

"Yeah," he says, "but it _is_ your fault the truck is still at Terry's, and that you broke your hand. Christ, me and Soda are gonna have to tow the damn truck tomorrow. Thanks a lot."

His eyes avert back to the road.

"You can't see it but I'm flipping you off," I hold up my broken hand, and you can't see any finger movement because of the awkward cast, and he looks at me again with a tight grin. "I really can't _stand _you."

"Hey, well that's good, because I really can't stand you either."

We stare at each other for a good twenty seconds before busting out laughing.

* * *

"Oh, God," I say as we pull up to the familiar stretch of land that is my street. "What do I say? Darry's gonna flip his lid! He's gonna kill me!"

"Just tell him what happened, and that you were in no condition to drive. You're not high right? Let me see your eyes!"

_What do you take me for? _I want to ask, but I don't.

"You idiot!" I snap unintentionally at him. "Don't you think I'd have been caught being high by the doctor? And no way, man. I ain't touchin' that shit with a ten foot pole."

His face shows his agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

God, he can be so stupid sometimes.

* * *

Steve and I slide in through the front door. For a second, I'm relieved Steve is here to back me up. I could have sworn he was going to drop me off to face them for myself.

When I don't see Darry, I breathe in a sigh of relief. We've slipped in unseen, and maybe it can give me a chance to recollect my thoughts. Come up with a plausible story.

"Hey," Sodapop calls from his bedroom.

"Hi, Soda," Steve and I call at the same time. But my voice is like a whisper.

Sodapop bounds into the living room. "How was the…" His eyes widen as he sees my face, "party…?"

I chuckle nervously.

"Oh my God!" Sodapop frets. "What happened? Oh my God, your hand! What did you do? Did you get into a fight?"

I sit on the couch. "Where's Darry?"

"He's sleepin', but if you don't tell me what happened I'm liable to go wake him up!"

Steve slumps next to me. "You wanna tell him or should I?"

"You can do it," I mutter, wanting very badly to have Steve do my dirty work for me.

"The kid was minding his own business at this party apparently…"

"…And," I say, "I decided to take a walk because it was kind of stuffy in there. Well, as I was walking, some guy came up to me and robbed me. He took all my stuff and held me up at gunpoint."

I try to ignore the pained sounds escaping Sodapop's mouth. But I can't disregard the gasp that comes out. "Gunpoint! Pony, you could have been killed!"

"Yeah," I dare to smile. "But I wasn't."

"I feel like you're gonna give me a heart attack. Premature death, for sure."

I roll my eyes. "He took all my money, my shirt, and my shoes. Really bummed."

"I should kill that son of a bitch," Soda nearly shouts with an intense rage. His eyes are burning, on fire. A dark brown.

"He hit me in the face with his heater," I say.

Soda bites back a shudder. "How'd you break your wrist?"

Steve answers for me. "The, uh … the robber guy … he knocked the kid over. That's what happened, right?" He looks at me. "And then the guy fell on his hand and that's how he broke his wrist."

I nearly implode with relief, and I look at Steve to show my innumerable amounts of gratitude. I really didn't want Soda to know I was the one who broke my own hand. That's just embarrassing.

"Oh, God," Sodapop says. He gathers me into a hug. "Thank God you're all right. Wait, Steve, why were you there? What's goin' on?"

"The truck's battery's dead. I had to call Steve at Terry Jones's house so he could pick me up."

"Took him to the hospital. Gave 'im my shirt."

"Thanks, Steve," Soda says so sincerely it nearly breaks my heart. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."

Steve beams. "Don't mention it."

"Really, man. Thanks," He turns to me. "You're not goin' to work tomorrow," says my brother casually.

"What? Why?"

"Ponyboy, for the love of God, just stay home."

"You just got robbed and—"

"You're always goin', goin', goin'—"

"What's goin' on out here?" my brother's voice booms, ricochets off the walls.

Oh, great. Darry's out now. Now I have a whole 'nother person to explain this to. And it's worse this time. Sodapop's been surprisingly calm, and I know Darry won't react the same. I won't be so lucky this time.

* * *

**Read all this/ If you want, I mean ... it's time to see how many references you got! **

-The song Ponyboy hears is "Happy Together" by the Turtles.

-"All morons hate when they get called a moron" is a quote from _Catcher in the Rye _by J.D. Salinger.

-"In _H_artford, _H_ereford, and _H_ampshire, _h_urricanes_ h_ardly ever _h_appen," and "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain" are quotes from _My Fair Lady_. The reason all the H's are in italics is because in this movie putting emphasis on your H's is important.

-Rex Harrison plays Henry Higgins in _My Fair Lady_, alongside Audrey Hepburn (Eliza).

-The line "You can't tell but I'm flipping you off" is mentioned somewhere in FeistyFeist's fanfic "A Better Place". I loved the line so much I had to use it.

* * *

**A/N: **Do I have any fellow _Supernatural_ fans? Ya with me? S.E. Hinton's been on a few episodes. c: It's absolutely wonderful. The brothers are so close it's like the Curtis brothers almost. Sorry! Off my soapbox. Just love to talk about SPN, haha.

Thanks for all the reads and reviews! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please review.


	6. California Dreamin'

**A/N: **Howdy! Here's another chapter for y'all. I hope you'll like it. It was one of the harder ones for me to write. I kept wanting to watch _Supernatural_, but I knew I had to keep writing this! Hahaha.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Don't own. The Outsiders belong to S.E. Hinton and all the other things I reference belong to their respected owners. So yeah. Not mine.

* * *

Sodapop gets up to hand me an old rag as a half-assed attempt to wipe at least some of the blood off my face.

I can hear Darry's footsteps before I can see him. I look at Steve. His face seems to match what I believe mine looks like - a cringe, and he sinks low into the couch.

My behemoth brother rubs his eyes as he steps in. "Could you guys keep it down? You sound like a herd of elephants."

I take my chance. While his eyes are still shut, I grab a couch cushion off the couch and put it over my right hand, covering the cast that's encasing it.

Darry opens his eyes, grunting as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Hey…"

"What the hell happened to your face?"

"Pony, just show him," Sodapop says. "It's no use to hide it."

"Hide what?" There's a panicked undertone to his calm demeanor. "What?"

My eyes shoot daggers. _Whose side are you even on? _"Okay, wow, thanks, Soda…"

Steve smacks me on the back of the head with enough force to make me almost fall over, but I steady myself. Darry just looks utterly bewildered when Steve says, "Yeah, dumbass. Like he wouldn't be able to see it. I swear to God, for bein' such a smart kid…"

I cut him off. "Yeah, I'm an idiot, I know. You've only said that _every _single time I fuck up."

"Whoooaa…" Darry and Soda say in unison. And as Steve starts to cackle, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my good hand. This day can blow me.

Sodapop has a slight half-shocked smile on his face. Though I usually swear and it's no big deal, I can tell it's funny to Soda to hear me say the F-word. Especially so bitterly and in front of Darry - which is something I wouldn't dare to do on normal occasions. But I guess this isn't really a normal occasion.

"What's goin' on here?" Darry asks, sounding more alert. Sodapop shifts anxiously. Steve starts to smile again. He always seems to enjoy it when I get my ass handed to me by my oldest brother.

"Do I really have to tell the story again?" And then I show him the cast.

His face instantly changes from annoyed to utter fear. "What the hell? What are you … how did you…?"

Sodapop starts talking, and I can tell it's because he can't stand to see our brother stutter and flounder like that. I can't either. "He got jumped at the party he went to…"

"By who? Socs? Hippies?"

I snort. "Yeah, Dar, by _hippies_."

Steve groans and plants his face into his palm at my dumb choice to defy Superman. "Ponyboy…" he whispers. Darry just looks like he's going to hit something.

"Okay, no. It was just a guy … he fought me, broke my wrist, and that's it."

"It?" Darry breathes. "It? That's it."

"Uh, Pony … I think you may have left out a few of the more … vital parts of the story." Soda is speaking so quietly he's almost whispering.

"Details," I murmur. "I don't think have to specify the details."

"I think you do!" my oldest brother announces. "Or else you're grounded!"

He's getting that frightening I-am-scarier-than-an-overgrown-grizzly look on his face, and his shoulders are hunched, so I know I don't want to cross him even more than I already have tonight.

"Well, he kind of … ya know … pulled a heater on me…"

I think his eyes may bulge out of his head. I think his head may explode. "WHAT? Are you okay?"

"Uh, obviously. I mean, I'm sitting right in front of -"

_Ponyboy, _Sodapop mouths frantically with some kind of weird grin on his face. He taps me on my leg. _Shut up!_

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say again, sounding much calmer this time. "He just hit me in the face with his gun. And robbed me!" I try to sound as crestfallen as possible with the last part. I mean, I'm more mad now than sad, but if I don't act sad I'm afraid Darry might ground me or something irrational like that.

"We have to call the cops."

I resist the urge to bust out laughing. "What? What has the fuzz ever done for us? And I don't even remember much about what the guy looks like anyway..."

That last part is a lie. I remember everything about it with perfect clarity. The darkness of his eyes, and the even freakier way they looked when the moonlight and streetlamps reflected off the nearly purple bags under them. His pasty skin and the way the gun trembled in his fingers.

Steve's nod takes me out of my broken reverie. "He's right, Dar."

Darry goes on, "And didn't I tell you it wasn't a good idea to go to this party tonight? I don't trust that Terry Jones, and you know that…"

"Are you implying that it's _my_ fault this happened to me?"

"Whoa, who," mumbles Soda. "Save it for recess, kiddos."

"No, Ponyboy. God, I'm not. But it wasn't a good idea for you to go tonight. You could have gotten Donna hurt! I mean, look what happened to yourself!"

"Darry…" I squeeze my eyes shut. "I didn't get robbed at the actual party. I was walkin' down the street away from his house 'cause Donna wasn't ready to go yet and the claustrophobia was killing me."

Darry cracks his knuckles almost threateningly. "Whatever. Just go to bed."

I know this means I've won this round. Darry usually doesn't give up this easy unless he can't think of a counterargument.

"And you're not goin' to work tomorrow!" I hear him call from the living room.

I groan. All of the money in my wallet got stolen - I'm all out. How am I supposed to do anything tomorrow without it?

* * *

I wash the remnants of the dried, caked-on blood from my face gingerly. I can already feel where it's going to swell, but I'm too tired to care.

* * *

There's a pressure on my arm that wakes me up in the middle of the night.

I flip on the lamp that resides next to my bed. "Whaa…?" I mutter sleepily, my eyes slits against the sudden bright light. I look down at the cast on my wrist.

That's the source of the pressure. "Son of a bitch," I say groggily.

I turn the light off, and fall into bed again.

* * *

Darry goes to work early the next morning, so only Sodapop's here when I wake up. He's making breakfast.

"Hey."

"Hi," he says. He turns to face me, setting his spatula on the countertop. "You got one hell of a shiner. It looks tuff, though."

I smile in spite of myself. "Thanks."

He sits down in his chair, setting a large plate of food down in front of me. It's one of those rare moments where it's just me and Soda, and no one else, and I don't want to ruin it.

He watches me in fixation as I struggle to hold my fork right with the broken wrist. It's really sore, and I can't seem to move it well.

A thought suddenly occurs to me. "Did you know Curly got drafted?" Random.

Soda looks up at me from his food. "Really?"

"Yeah. But Tim don't know yet. No one really does except me."

He looks downtrodden. "That's a bummer, man. When does he get shipped out?"

"I don't remember. I don't think he even said anything about that. He seemed kind of scared. But to be honest, I think he was more scared about tellin' Tim and Angela about it than the gooks."

"Remember when I got my draft physical?" my brother suddenly asks.

I snort. "Yeah. Scariest day of my life. I thought you was gonna get drafted."

"They told me I was medically unqualified. 'Fallen arches,' they said. It's lucky I've got the flattest feet known to man. I reckon flat feet make it harder to do long walks and hikes in the jungle."

"That's why you weren't eligible?"

"Yeah. You never knew that?"

I shrug. "I didn't. You and Darry never really mentioned it."

He smiles, his naturally perfect teeth white and straight. "Guess it never really came up in conversation. I always thought Darry just never really wanted to talk about it. He didn't want to jinx it. We just gotta thank our lucky stars I'm still here today."

"You're not kiddin'."

"You're gonna have to get a draft physical soon, too."

"Soda," I say with a laugh. "I'm only sixteen. I hope the war will be over by then."

Sodapop makes a small shrug and slurps his chocolate milk heartily. "I don't know, man. But it really bothers me."

"What does? War? Yeah, I hate it, too."

"Yeah, war! All this fightin'. I wouldn't want to kill nobody. Fightin' rumbles is one thing, but I couldn't kill a guy. It's patriotic, fighting. It's brave and heroic, but it ain't all that. There's no way it's all like the way the movies you force me to watch make it seem. It's scary, too."

"I agree," I say. "I mean, my friend Ruby's got a brother who's fighting. He writes to her all the time about how bad it is over there. That's why she protests, ya know? Ruby wants me to go protesting with her, but I don't know. I don't think I could do that."

Soda nods. "Gee, we really sound like a bunch of hippies, don't we?"

I start to laugh. "I just hope Curly won't do something stupid over there to get his ass killed."

"Curly? Stupid? Never…"

I laugh in spite of the horrible situation.

* * *

Soda leaves and I call in work to tell them I won't be able to come in today.

My manager says that it's fine once I tell him the reason.

But I go anyway.

Darry said I can't work … but that doesn't mean I go to work … right?

I change into the same pair of pants I wore yesterday, one of my old t-shirts, and go.

There is no way I'm going to sit in my house all day long. And there's something I need to talk to Ruby about.

* * *

The familiar doorbell clangs and I step into my work.

"_All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray … I've been for a walk on a winter's day … I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A. California dreamin' on such a winter's day_…"

There's a voice singing, filtering its way through Lansdowne Books. Who's singing? I can't help but think. And why are they doing it in the bookstore?

I walk into the back office where the staff usually goes.

When I walk in, I see Ruby, trying to control her wild hair. She's the one singing.

"You know, you sound awful good. Maybe you should become a singer or something."

My bum hand hangs limply at my side, and from this angle, she can't see the white cast.

She turns around to face me, and clutches her hand to her chest. I can tell I startled her. "Oh, Ponyboy, I didn't hear you come in. Thanks! I'm not too good, but I sing when I'm by myself. Didn't expect you to come in … I thought you weren't working today."

I hold up my hand. "I'm not."

"Oh, wow! What happened? How'd you do that?"

"Uh, Ruby … do you remember anything that happened last night?"

"No…" She eyes me suspiciously. "I got kinda drunk … I hope I didn't make a fool out of myself. I'll never go to a Terry Jones party again."

"No, you didn't," I reassure her. "It was fine."

"Oh, good. I just have a killer headache."

I chuckle good-naturedly. "Hangover?"

"You don't the half of it," she says with a smile, that shows the gap in her teeth. "I'm sure you were watching out for me, though. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Just wanted to check up on ya," I lie easily.

"Oh - to make sure I made it home last night?"

"Actually, yes. I was sort of worried about that."

"My friend Oscar took me home … Hey, maybe I could introduce you guys sometime! You'd really like him, Pony. He's very sociable, and he gives free cigarettes!"

She doesn't even remember the fact that I met Oscar yesterday. But she's right: he does give out free cigarettes. "Yeah, we'll … uh, have to do that."

"Now how did you break your hand?" Ruby puts her hands on her hips, her lips slightly parted.

I study her. Over her Lansdowne Polo, she has a few pins that read, "Peace!" and "I love Ringo" on them. Her long, flowing hair frames her face.

As I tell her the story, I decide she was too drunk to know what she was doing last night. She didn't have any control over herself when she kissed me.

And I secretly have to swallow down the disappointment.

* * *

I see my manager as I walk out of Lansdowne. "Hey, Ponyboy!" he calls from across the parking lot. "What are you doin' here, kiddo? I thought you were out today."

I hold up the cast. "I am."

"Ooh … that's tough. When will you back in? We can make you do the easy jobs, like checking the books out or something."

"Well, hopefully tomorrow. I think my brother just wants to keep me out of work to punish me or something."

Robert smiles and adjusts the toothpick in his mouth. "Just call me if anything changes. We'll make it work somehow."

"Thanks!"

I have one of the best managers in the world. Robert may just be the most understanding person I know, besides Sodapop and Ruby.

As he walks into Lansdowne, I hear him chuckle to himself and say, "Boys will be boys."

If I ever hear someone say that again I may punch them.

* * *

I dial the familiar numbers, my fingers taking on a life of their own. I've called Donna's house so many times I don't even have to think about it anymore.

"Hello?" a sweet voice answers.

"Hi, Mrs. Millar. Is Donna there?"

I relieved that Donna's mother is the one who answers. Her father scares me slightly.

"Yes, but I have to warn you. Donna is awfully crabby today, and I think she may be coming down with something." When is she _not _crabby? I almost say, but I then deem that unwise.

"Really?" I try to act surprised. That 'something' is called a hangover. "Is she okay?"

"I think so. DONNA, PHONE!"

I wait a few seconds. There's a ruffling noise, and then Donna's on. "Hi…" I say.

"Hi, Pony…"

"What's wrong? Sounds like you been crying. You okay?"

"I don't feel good! I keep throwing up. I have a headache. I don't feel good!"

"Well, Donna, you did have a lot to drink last night…"

"Shut up," she moans. "You're so loud."

"Sorry," I say, with my voice almost a whisper.

"Did you know James Dean died?" she says suddenly.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Uh, yeah, I did … he died in, like, 1955."

"I had no idea. I was watching _East of Eden,_ and I wondered why James Dean hasn't been in any movies lately." She sounds dangerously close to tears again. "I never knew that. That's so sad. He was so young…"

"Donna, it's okay," I try to inform her in her obviously delirious state. "Uh, he's in a better place."

"It's upsetting," she mumbles. "Oh, gosh, I gotta go. I don't feel good. I'll be calling you."

"Um, alright," I say, but all I get is the dial tone.

I compare the way Donna and Ruby deal with hangovers.

Donna is loopy - almost like she is actually drunk.

Ruby is ... Ruby is pretty much the same. I guess she can handle things a little better.

* * *

"I got a job!" Two-Bit suddenly announces as he walks in. "I got one!"

I look at the clock on the wall. 4:30. It's no wonder I haven't seen Two-Bit all day.

"Really? That's great! Where's it at?"

"Used car dealership."

"What?" I stare at Two-Bit's beaming face.

"What do you mean 'What?'?"

"Why a used car dealership?" I ask.

Popping his knuckles, he strides into my kitchen. "'Cause it was the only place that would accept me, I guess." He opens the ice box. "You got any beer?"

"I don't think so. So how is it? Joinin' the workers club?"

"I hate it!" he announces. "This better work, 'cause I'm actually startin' to miss Kathy!"

"Yeah, you're _just _now starting to miss her."

"Don't provoke me, kid. This was a bad day."

I reply, "Why? What happened?"

"Let's just say it's been a hard day's night, and I've been workin' like a dog."

"Um, okay…" I say to myself, not really expecting him to quote something like that ever in his life. My eyes widen, and I go slack jawed. "Two-Bit," I say in mock bewilderment. "Did you just quote _the Beatles_?"

"Don't hold it against me," he mutters as he slumps on the couch beside me. "It's hot as hell outside, and that's all they play at my work. Beatles." He shakes his head. "Can't they put on something good for once?"

"Life is so hard," I say, smiling.

"Don't I know it. I'm not diggin' this whole 'working' thing."

"I don't think anyone really does."

* * *

**Read. As always. Nothing has changed. **

So there's not a shit-ton of references this time.

- The first one doesn't really count as a 'reference' exactly, but I thought I should write it down. I got the 'fallen arches' part out of a book called _A Shining Season _by William Buchanan. That's what they said when he went to his mandatory draft physical.

-The song Ruby is singing is "California Dreamin'" by the Mamas and the Papas, on the album "If You Can Believe With Your Eyes and Ears". (RIP, Mama Cass, Papa John, and Papa Denny).

-James Dean. :D Actor. Very famous actor. Was in movies like _Rebel Without a Cause_, and as mentioned, _East of Eden. _James died in 1955 of a car accident. He was only 24.

-Two-Bit quotes "A Hard Day's Night" by The Beatles, obviously. Come on, Two-Bit! You're a greaser! Greasers don't sing Beatles! :D

Thanks for reading! Please review!

-grey


	7. A Bad Moon on the Rise

**A/N: **First of all, I'd like to say thank you for all of the support you've so wonderfully given. I couldn't do this without you guys, so know that you're all appreciated. Thanks for the reviews! Please leave more! You're awesome, all of you. And without you guys, I wouldn't have the drive to finish this. So, I thank you.

**Disclaimer: **As always, I don't own _The Outsiders_ or anything mentioned below. Please pardon any typos. Thanks.

* * *

About two weeks later, Two-Bit drops me and Soda (Steve having dropped off the face of the earth. No, I'm just kidding. When I asked Sodapop where Steve has been, he told me that Steve has been working extra hours because he wants more money) off at work the next morning. "Well, I'm on my way to my _own_ job," he sniffs, as though he's acting like he's trying to tell a secret but in actuality wants everyone to hear. "Might as well drop the Curtises off."

"How kind of you," I add.

Ruby and I are usually the firsts to get there in the morning. It's fun to open everything up.

Lansdowne Books is dark when you first get there in the morning. The air conditioner is loud and bulky, but I'd rather sit in here than die of a heat stroke outside.

I see Ruby's hair before I see her face. It's just there. It sticks out like a sore thumb in the dark staff room of Lansdowne.

"So, Ponykid, kid, kiddo, Pony, Ponyboy," she says, "there's this … I don't know … rave kind of thing going on tonight, on Morgan Ford Street, you know? I think some people are protesting tonight."

My wrist throbs against the stark white plaster uncomfortably as I take a seat. "A rave? And protesting? Like, the war? What about it?"

Ruby smiles sheepishly. I can hear the pins and buttons she wears on her uniform clinking as she stands.

"I just don't want to go by myself."

"Then … I don't know … go with some friends?"

"You're my friend!" she exclaims indignantly. "So why can't you come with me?"

"I _can_ come with you," I reply offhandedly. "I just don't know if I _want_ to."

"Oh." And then she gets that look on her face - the pout, the pursed lips, and she's seemed to have perfected it since the last time she used on me. She's got puppy dog eyes that would make Dallas Winston melt in her palm. It's her way of getting whatever she wants out of me.

But I just feel so bad for her. Her brother is in the war - what would I be like if _my_ brother was in the war?

I would protest. "Okay," I finally relent. "But I'm not holding up one of those signs."

"Oh, thank you!" and she kisses me on the cheek. "Thanks, Ponykid! For a second I didn't think you'd have the _yarbles_ to go protesting with me. But I guess I was wrong."

"But I'm not dressin' up as one o' them hippies like you," I say this jokingly. She knows I would never purposefully try to offend her. I could never say something mean to her.

"I'm not a hippie," she says.

I laugh. She's one of the hippiest people I know. Besides Randy and Ocean Storm - they might take the cake for that one.

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not. I have a job, don't I?"

"What, hippies can't have jobs?"

"Well, a lot of them don't. I don't think I'm a hippie." She shrugs. "Sure, I believe in their ideals. I think they have the right mindset - peace. I think that's all we need."

"Yeah," I say, trying to be totally serious but I can't hide my smug smile, "all you need is love."

She snaps her fingers and giggles, and I watch as her disheveled hair flies off her shoulder. She's so beautiful when she laughs; I wish she would do it more often.

I snap my brain off before I can think of more. Oh, shit. I tell myself, _You have a girlfriend, remember?_

"They're right when they say that, though. I mean, just think of all the people in the world who could have been so much more had they been loved."

I think of Johnny Cade.

"It's true," I say somberly.

"But anyway," she says as she fixes a book on the shelf and flips the door sign from "_Sorry, we're closed_" to "_Welcome, we're open_!", "just because I believe in their beliefs and have a similar style to them doesn't mean I am one."

"Whatever you say…"

"Shut up." She shoves me on my good arm. "Have you finished _A Clockwork Orange _yet?"

"Actually I did yesterday."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I am … well, I am still trying to make up my _rassoodock _about it."

She laughs, a full-on belly laugh, which makes me feel good. She always thinks I'm funny, which is good because a lot of other people don't - Donna included.

"You did not just use a Nadsat term on me."

"What? You just used one earlier!"

"Whatever, Ponyboy. I'll pick you up for the rave tonight at 6."

"Are you sure? I can maybe drive."

She looks down at my broken wrist. "You sure, there, Pony? Are you really sure?"

I roll my eyes, frantically walking around to make sure everything is set up for opening. "Ah, I hate being a gimp."

"Oh, stop complaining," she huffs with a gap-toothed grin. "You'll be fine."

"Tonight at six?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

I stop by Donna's house on the way home.

She looks awful, short hair a mess and eye make-up smudged so bad she's unrecognizable. She walks swiftly to join me on the porch.

"Hey."

"Oh, God. You're … you're talking so loud!"

"Are you hungover?" I bite my lip.

She groans, and leans into my shoulder. "I think I'm coming down with something."

I pat her short hair gingerly. "I'm sorry, Donna. I heard that people have been gettin' the flu a lot lately. Maybe that's what it is."

"Oh, great," she mutters as she lightly puts her hand over the cast on my wrist. "Oh, baby, are you alright?" It's one of those rare moments where Donna shows compassion. It's a rarity. It's something that only happens when she's sick or drunk.

She must be sick. She's known I've had a broken wrist for a while now. "I'm okay, Donna."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I say, shoving her back into her house. "Feel better, Donna."

"I love you."

I look at her and nod. "I love you too."

But I don't think I feel right when I say it.

* * *

I also stop by the DX. I grab a Pepsi with my good hand and say, "Just lettin' you know that I'm going to a small … get together tonight with Ruby."

"Another party?" Steve asks slyly, raising one eyebrow and looking at Soda. "The kid is busier than we were when we were that age."

"The parties must be funner now. More people seem to be havin' 'em," Sodapop says simply. "You're not doin' the dope, are you?"

I laugh. "'Course I ain't doin' the dope. What do you take me for? And it ain't much of a party," I lie. _It's more of a crazy hippie protest party, is what it is. _"Just a get-together."

"I know you ain't doin' the dope!" He gathers me into a headlock. The grease on his fingers coat my neck, and I can't really wiggle myself out of his grasp because of the cast on my arm is incapacitating to me a little bit.

I turn to leave a few minutes later. "I ought to go. I'll see you later, Soda."

* * *

"I've never been in one of these before," I comment as I slide in to Ruby's Volkswagen Van. "It's tuff."

"Groovy, isn't it?"

"That's one way to put it."

Ruby turns up her radio. _"There is a house in New Orleans, before the rising sun…" _

She holds her hand up. "This is my song."

It's scary how strikingly similar she is to Donna sometimes. For two people who are incredibly different, they share a lot of similarities.

"Uh, okay…"

I watch as she readjusts the big round sunglasses on her face. "Do you like my glasses?" she asks, and it's like she just read my mind. "They're like Janis's. I love Janis."

"Cool."

"I made protest signs," she says loudly, talking over the blaring music.

I look at them. They say things like, _"War is not healthy for children and other living things." _

I ask her about that. "What do you mean by this, Ruby?"

"I like the saying. I saw a picture of a poster saying that in a newspaper, and I decided to make one of my own. It's nice, right?"

I breathe through my nose. "Right." I'm reluctant to do this. To protest. I don't feel right protesting the government. Sure, I don't like war. But I never pictured myself doing this.

* * *

We sit next to a tree, about to go start waving our signs around. "I don't know about this," I say. "I feel like we're Snowball and Napoleon or something."

Ruby chuckles. "Snowball and Napoleon, huh? Wouldn't that make us enemies?"

"I guess so. But I feel like we're trying to overthrow our government or something. I'm kind of … ya know … reluctant to get put in jail."

"If the cops come - and trust me, Ponyboy, they won't - we'll bail. I promise. You're not going to get in any kind of trouble tonight."

Why _wouldn't_ the cops come? We're standing in the middle of a street, crowding it, and sooner or later someone is going to need to drive through.

But I follow her, because I trust her. She wouldn't lie to me. I still feel incredibly stupid as I step into the street, clad in my faded and torn jeans and black t-shirt, while she wears a tie-dyed dress.

* * *

"Ponyboy!" I hear someone call from behind my shoulder.

I recognize the voice before I turn around. "Randy … hi."

I should have known he was coming. "Hello!" he says to both me and Ruby.

"Oh, uh … Randy, this is Ruby. Ruby, Randy."

"Hello, there."

"Where's Ocean Storm tonight, Randy?" Not that I really care, but I thought that I should at least try to make conversation.

Randy's extremely long hair seems especially out-of-this-world tonight. His tie-dyed poncho says "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" on it, whatever that means. But Ruby seems to dig it. "I like your shirt, Randy!" she says.

I don't feel right being here. I'm a greaser, not some kind of hippie freak. I'm tough, not all for peace. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be here.

* * *

At around eight, Ruby finds her friends and leaves me with Randy, who has since been joined by Ocean Storm. "Let's get out of here," Randy says to me. "I don't really like it here."

"Okay," I agree, because I don't really like it here either. "I just gotta tell Ruby goodbye."

Randy nods along to the music playing in the background. _"Don't go 'round tonight, 'cause it's bound to take your life … there's a bad moon on the rise." _

I actually know this song. I hear it on the radio - and it ain't too bad, really.

I tug lightly on some of Ruby's sun kissed hair. "Hey, I'm headin' out. I'm goin' with Randy and Ocean Storm." _God, it's ridiculous every time I say it. _

She nods. "Okay. Well, thank you for coming tonight, Ponyboy. I really appreciate it."

"It was no problem."

* * *

"Uh, where are we going?"

Randy and Ocean Storm and I have been walking for a while now. "Wherever the wind takes us."

I try to hide the fact that I'm rolling my eyes, but Randy seems oblivious to it. "I don't know," Ocean Storm answers sincerely. "Probably just this really cool lake we found. It's really nice. Peaceful."

"O-kayy…" I mumble.

So eventually the sun starts to fall, and from where we're at, on a deck over a lake, it's the most wonderful thing I have ever laid eyes on. If I thought a sunrise in Windrixville was surreal…

Gosh, this, all this time, was here. I feel the warmth radiate through me, the splashing of something in the lake water, and all is serene. I could come out here and read a book.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes." I nod eagerly.

"I've always wanted to go to the ocean," Randy says suddenly.

Which causes Ocean Storm to say, "All of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea - whether it is to sail or to watch it - we are going back from whence we came."

My eyebrows furrow as I fathom this. I bite my lip hard, and start to take off my shoes. I let my feet dip in the water.

"I always liked that quote," says Randy, with the same fixation on the lake as me.

"So, Randy … what have you been doing lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean … like, after you dropped out of school."

He smiles softly. "Oh. Well … my parents kicked me out the day I told them I was dropping out. They wanted nothing to do with a son who was going to be "a deadbeat". So, I packed up some clothes, all the money I could find in my house - which was surprisingly not much - and hit the road, hitchin' rides everywhere I went. And I went all over the place. Kansas, Illinois, Missouri, you know. That general area.

"But anyway, I eventually came back to Tulsa, and that's when I met Ocean Storm, here."

"Oh."

"You know," he says, "I'm glad I broke away from them. My family, I mean. They were starting to become like Bob Sheldon's family was - couldn't say no. So when I told them I dropped out, it was satisfying to see them freak out. I liked that they were mad. They always seemed to walk on eggshells around me. I couldn't stand it."

"Randy, how do you make any money? How do you buy food? Clothes?"

"We make our own hemp clothes. A lot of people suddenly like our hemp clothes, so it's big business, and we have to make money somehow."

"That's cool," I say, biting back a shudder. Who knew Mr. Super Soc was going to turn into this?

"I want to apologize to you, Ponyboy."

I look at him, with his big, long hair and tie-dye headband, and God, I just can't take him seriously anymore. But he always sounds so sincere, it freaks me out. "For what?"

"I was awful to you, kid. I … I…" He swallows, and I'm worried he's going to get all emotional on me for what he did two years ago. "I almost killed you."

"Man, you were the only one who was _civil _out of all of them. Are you baked?" I ask suddenly.

"I had a little bit o' the Mary-Jane before I came. You know, like Puff the Magic Dragon!"

I inwardly groan. How come I'm the one who always has to deal with the drunk or high people?

"Oh … well, Randy, it's okay. I ain't mad about that anymore. Christ, don't beat yourself up, you were a kid."

"But it still haunts me. I hate myself for it."

I don't know what to say to that.

* * *

**Okay, okay. Welly, welly, welly, welly, well. Read up, folks. If you want. I added more references because there weren't a lot last time.**

**-**"All You Need is Love" is a song by The Beatles.

-"Yarbles" and "Rassoodocks" are two terms from the book _A Clockwork Orange. _You see, the people in this book have a special slang language (a slanguage), which is called "Nadsat" as mentioned above.

Yarbles = testicles, balls (now, everyone, smirk, ahaha, I know, it's so funny, ahahaha (this is sarcasm))

Rassoodocks = mind (in now a days it is Russian for "head)

-The song Ruby listens to is called "House of the Rising Sun". The most popular version - the one they were most likely listening to - is by the Animals. However, it's a really, really old folk song so its origins are unknown. Oooh, a mystery.

-When Ruby says she loves Janis, she is referring to Janis Joplin

-War is not healthy for children and other living things is a very popular war protesting slogan. You can google it. It's extremely popular.

-Snowball and Napoleon are characters (well, they're pigs, haha) from George Orwell's classic, _Animal Farm. _

-"In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" is a song by Iron Butterfly.

-The song playing at the rave is "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Gotta love CCR. I've probably mentioned them five times already.

-Ocean Storm is quoting John F. Kennedy.

-Mary-Jane is a term for marijuana.

-"Puff the Magic Dragon" is a song by Peter, Paul & Mary, but is also a drug term.

Thanks for reading! Please review your thoughts! I would like to know your honest opinions on everything, and I hope I'm doing everything justice.

-grey


	8. Nowhere Man

**A/N: **Hi, guys, back again. Injured my leg a few days ago (it was totally all my fault, mind you. I brought this upon myself because I'm an idiot), so ... I updated. Yay!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Pardon typos. A few swear words. Hilarity ensues.

* * *

The muggy air is now stagnant, starting to make me sweat so much my clothes are sticking to me. I watch the sunset beside Ocean Storm and Randy, and I think it's safe to say they appreciate sunsets as much as I do. It's nice to know that there are people who take the time to just stop and notice the little things like that. And from where we're sitting, it's a real pretty view.

You'd think the sun setting would provide some sort of relief to the heat of the daytime, but all it brings is a comforting darkness.

"You know," Ocean Storm says, real strung-out like, on a big exhale, "I think I'm kind of a Nowhere Man."

My brow furrows as I contemplate this. "A what?" I find myself asking, even though I've learned it's better to not ask Ocean Storm questions, not unless you want a long, repetitive, and drawn-out answer.

And then Randy is wrapping his arms around Ocean Storm in a truly comforting, platonic way and they're rocking back and forth and Randy explodes with, _"Nowhere Man, please listen, you don't know what you're missing, Nowhere Man, the world is at your command."_

"I don't—" I decide right there to cut myself off, because it's usually easier to just nod your head like an idiot and go along with whatever they say.

Ocean Storm looks up at me from where he's sitting on the dock, his black and curly hair flying in the wind. His blue eyes seem to stare into my soul. "I'm a Nowhere Man."

"Oh," I shrug. "Yeah, a—a Nowhere Man. I get it." I bite my lip.

"You're a cool cat, Cool Cat."

"You're pretty cool, too, Ocean Storm."

He smiles, showing me a row of crooked teeth that are surprisingly very clean and white. The reason I assumed his oral hygiene wouldn't be too good is this is a guy who _most likely _doesn't bathe, and smells like patchouli. So I didn't expect the guy to take care of his teeth, for crying out loud.

"So, uh … it's getting pretty late. I should probably get going."

Randy stands. "How are you going to get home?"

"I guess I'll just have to walk."

"Naw, man. We can walk you home."

I try to keep my eyes from widening. "No, no. No, it's okay. I can just walk."

"No!" Ocean Storm bellows, straightening up. "Come on, man! We can have an adventure! An adventure to Cool Cat's house!"

"Come on, Ponyboy. It's getting dark out."

"Okay," I begrudgingly give in. "But my brothers are home and everything so they might not … you know, want company."

Randy adjusts his headband, and flashes an "_A-Okay_" sign at me. "We hear ya loud and clear."

So we start to trudge along, stumbling blindly in the sweltering early-July heat. There's a part of me that thinks that Ocean Storm isn't going to get that great adventure he was wanting to have. It's just near heat-stroke weather out here.

Which is something that is starting to worry me. My brother has to spend all day roofing houses in the scorching heat, and his work is back-breakingly hard enough without the sun there to mess everything up.

This heat wave has just been too much, and it only seems to get worse. The cast on my wrist makes everything worse; I know I'm going to have a major tan line from it when I get it off. It's itchy and makes me feel sweaty and I can't stand it.

Right when Ocean Storm first saw it he wanted to sign it, so he took out a felt marker he had in his bell-bottom jeans pocket and started drawing elaborate flowers on it, along with a few peace signs. "Not many people know this, Cool Cat," he said to me earlier, "but a peace sign was originally designed to be, like, a sad man. A man slouching down with his arms splayed out beside him. That's what it was supposed to be. Not about peace, but sadness."

"Really?" I asked him, but I wanted to say, _"Wow, you really take this hippie thing seriously, don't you?" _but I didn't. I didn't want to be mean, especially because he has been nothing but nice to me.

Actually, I don't think Ocean Storm is capable of being mean - like he doesn't have a mean bone in his body. I'm starting to think Randy doesn't either anymore, like somehow all of his Socy blood just kind of _leaked_ out of him, and was replaced by this new Randy's. Maybe that's the same thing that happened to Ocean Storm. Maybe he was a Soc once too, maybe he didn't like being on his side of the tracks. And I think we can all relate to that.

"Really, Cool Cat. Though most people now use it for peace, and only peace." He shrugged. "And I do too. But there's a part of me - deep, deep down, that feels the pain of this poor slouching man. I think the man represents us all - the sadness that we all … secretly possess."

His words always make me think. So I thought about it. "That's deep, man," I mumbled, because I think he was far too gone to even care about what I had to say about that. And then: "Ocean Storm, how old are you?"

"19, but I don't like to label myself in numbers. That's what the man wants you to do."

"The man … like the sad man on the peace sign?" I don't care if it sounded stupid, I just wanted him to know that I was paying attention to him.

"No … like, the man. The maaaaaan. The government." He smiled at me eerily. "Your teachers? Yeah, they're the man! Your parents are the man! Everyone's the man. And you can't let the man - or anyone - control you. You're a free spirit, and you've got the right to speak up for yourself. You gotta stick it to the man. And that's what rock and roll is for, Cool Cat. To stick it to the man."

"I dig it. What's your real name, Ocean Storm?"

Ocean Storm bit his lip and appeared to be hesitant. So Randy answered for him. "Sam Cooper."

"Again, I don't let the man label me. I can make my name whatever I want it to be, and I believe I was destined to be Ocean Storm."

"I think so too," Randy answers with a sense of finality in his voice, one that's like he's daring someone to tell him any different.

But now we're just walking, slowly, methodically, and I just don't think I can take this heat anymore. "Guys," I say, "is there a payphone around here somewhere?"

"I think so, at the end of this block by the record store," Randy replies, and adjusts some of his necklaces.

"Record store?"

"Yeah, man. Peaches. The record store."

I shrug lackadaisically. "I didn't know there was a record store around here."

"Aw, man, Peaches has got the grooviest vinyl stuff there. I bought my first record there."

"What record was that?"

"_Face to Face._"

Ocean Storm jumps up in the air, his necklaces clinking together and against his hemp clothing.

I look at them, and suddenly realize how out of place I look with my t-shirt and jeans that aren't bell-bottoms. Randy's Iron Butterfly, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida shirt is wild, trippy, and my clothes just look … normal. But God, I'd rather look normal than like them.

I don't know whose album is _Face to Face_ but I'd bet Ruby and Donna would know if they were here.

"That's one of my favorites. One of the best albums of 1966," Ocean Storm says to Randy, voice saccharine. "I use to have it, but a lot of my records are lost now. I didn't take good care of my music in '66."

"That's too bad, brother," Randy says solemnly, as he rests his hand on Ocean Storm's shoulder. "I didn't take care of my stuff either, but I learned my lesson. You just can't lose such valuable stuff, man."

I arch my eyebrow and watch them in suspicion; they seem to be speaking more personally and to each other than to me and I can't help but feel like I'm intruding on their privacy.

So we walk to the payphone in silence. Eventually we cross under a bridge that resides under the overpass. "Hey!" Ocean Storm announces. "We should write "_Kilroy was here_" or something like that under the bridge!"

"Why?" I ask.

"That's a great idea," Randy says sagely. He scratches his lengthy hair and sighs. "But we don't have any paint at the moment. We'll have to come back another time, right, Ponyboy?"

He's being serious. I didn't think people still wrote _Kilroy was here _on things anymore. Not since the '40s.

"I'm gonna call my brother. It's just too hot to be walking. I've still got a long ways to go," I try not to pant out.

"Okay," Randy says.

"Do you guys need rides to your houses?"

"House," Ocean Storm corrects silently. "My house is his house. We believe in sharing. And we live in the same place."

"Oh, okay…" I mumble. "How are you guys getting to your _house_?"

"We're friends with the owner of Peaches. He can give us a ride."

"Are you sure?" I don't want them to be standing out in this ungodly heat all night.

"Sure, we're sure, Ponyboy. You don't have to worry so much. We'll be fine, kid."

I nod and slide into the telephone booth. Fishing in my pocket for a quarter, I rest my head against the surprisingly cool glass of the booth.

The phone rings about seven times and I contemplate hanging up, but then Sodapop answers. "'Lo?"

"You know, Darry would scold you if he heard you answering the telephone like that."

"Hey, kiddo," he says brightly when he finds that it's me. "What's up? How's the party thing?"

"It's fine. But could you pick me up?"

"Sure," he replies without missing a beat. "Where are you at?"

"We're, um … Randy, where are we at? Oh, yeah…" I laugh, answering myself with: "We're by this record store called Peaches."

"Peaches, huh? I think I know where that's at. I'll be there in a few minutes. Just stay put."

"Thanks, Soda. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, kid."

I exit the booth and wipe some of the sweat off my forehead. When I return to them, they're in nearly the same position as before. Sitting on the steps that lead into Peaches. "Let's go in!" Randy says, excitement laden in his voice. He sounds like a kid going to the carnival.

"Nah, man. I gotta wait outside so my brother knows when to pick me up."

"Okay," Ocean Storm says. "We'll wait outside with you."

"It's okay. You really don't have to. You can go into Peaches, I'll just wait outside."

But they're truly persistent bastards. So I finally just say, "Screw it." and let them sit outside with me.

* * *

I hear the truck's familiar rumbling before I see Soda. I immediately walk over to the truck, and much to my dismay, Randy and Ocean Storm follow behind me.

"Hey, brother," says Randy, and he sidles up to the driver's side of the car where Sodapop is sitting.

Soda looks at me, silently asking _Randy? _and I nod sheepishly.

If my older brother is shocked to see him he hides it well. "Hi!" he says cheerily. "How … uh … how are you all doin' today?"

"We're doin' great! How are you, brother?"

Sodapop swallows. I round the car, slowly lowering myself into the passenger seat. "Good. Mighty hot out, ain't it?"

"Small talk," I whisper to Soda. He elbows me lightly and a small smile plays at his lips.

"That it is." Ocean Storm finally decides to speak up, and glory - he sounds more drugged up than ever. "That it is."

"Well, we best get goin'," Sodapop says kindly. "We still gotta eat dinner. See ya!"

Randy and Ocean Storm both give us peace signs; so simultaneously that it's almost funny. "Bye!" I wave to them.

"Christ almighty!" Sodapop explodes. "You weren't kiddin' when you said that Randy fellow was a hippie!"

"I know."

"Interesting crowd you're hangin' with there, Pony. You ain't thinkin' of becoming a hippie, are ya?" He says this teasingly, but I shake my head, adamant.

"Oh, no." I shake my head. "God, no. They're just really nice people, is all. I like them."

Soda nods. "And they seemed nice. It's just … strange to see that Soc. I remember seein' him when _I _was in high school."

"I know. It's like he ain't even the same person."

"Hey, was that Sam Cooper?" he suddenly asks.

My eyebrows furrow as I lean back in my seat. "Yeah! How'd you know?"

"He was a buddy o' mine for a short while."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't talk to him too much, but he was kinda nice. Good guy."

I say, "So he was a greaser?"

Soda bites his lip, and grip on the steering wheel loosens slightly as he makes a turn. He seems to be pondering something. "No … well, not really. He wasn't rich but he wasn't exactly … poor, ya know?"

"So he was one of them Middle Classers." I give a laugh. "He goes by Ocean Storm now."

My brother chuckles. His smile makes him look even handsomer than ever. "Oh, glory," he sighs. "Things really are different, now, aren't they?"

"The times, they are a-changing," I say.

I wonder how many times I'm going to quote Bob Dylan in my life - and for the quote to be relevant. 'Cause it's true, things really are different. The world is constantly changing - and sometimes I wish that things could just go back to the way they were before. More simplistic. Before there was this stupid war, before there was hippies, before everything.

* * *

Darry's plopping spaghetti onto plates when we get back. "Hey," he greets.

"Little late for dinner, ain't it?" I say, my eye trailing to the clock, which says it's 9:12.

"We waited for you," he says.

I smile. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Steve says from behind me. When I look at him, I see that he's resting on the couch beside Two-Bit, sipping a beer and watching TV. "And we shouldn't have. I'm fucking starving."

I eat my spaghetti. Steve grabs a plate and goes back to the kitchen. "Man, they're right about that," he says to the TV screen. "Gentleman _do_ prefer blondes." He shakes his head. "But that Jane Russell…" He whistles.

Two-Bit laughs. "She ain't got nothin' on Marilyn."

They laugh and watch the rest of the movie contently, talking about who has a nicer "rack" and I just shake my head and laugh at their antics.

And then: "Guess what!" Two-Bit grins wildly.

"What?"

"You have to guess!"

Steve groans next to me. "How in the hell is he supposed to guess when he knows absolutely—"

"Kathy got back together with me!" Two-Bit cuts Steve off from his bitch fit.

I smile. "That's tuff, Two-Bit! Nice."

"It was all 'cause of you!"

My face forms a grimace and I laugh sheepishly. "Two-Bit, I didn't do any—"

He raises a hand to silence me. "Nonsense."

"I don't understand what you're tryin' to say."

"If it weren't for you, man, I wouldn't know what ambition is. And you helped me get in the direction of where I should look to work and -"

I put my hand out. "Hold up. Did you just call me "man"?"

"Yeah!" He frowns. "What's wrong with that?"

"You usually call me "kid" or "kiddo"."

"Yeah, I guess. But you helped me out. So I figured I'd call you "man" from now on, man. Ya know?"

I laugh. "I … guess so…"

"Whatever, man. You ain't a kid much more anyway. You're taller than all of us now." He raises his eyebrows. "Even _me_, which still astounds me every day, by the way."

"Aw, shucks, I ain't taller than Darry."

Steve gets up to throw his plate away. "Yeah, but you may be one day," he says.

Darry grunts out, "That won't happen."

"Yeah," Sodapop puts his two bits in. "It's bad enough he's taller than me. There should be like some kind of law of nature that states you can't be taller than your older brother."

"Aw, cut it out," I say with a grin on my face. "It ain't no big deal."

They continue to laugh at me, which is something that over the years I've discovered they really enjoy teasing me. First about not being into girls, then wanting a girlfriend, then getting Cathy Carlson, then puberty, then Donna - especially Donna. That girl is just something the Gang loves to hate.

Which is why I could never, _never_, NEVER, _NEVER _

never  
never  
never  
never

tell them about Angela Shepard.

It would be like suicide. I'd never hear the end of it, they'd make fun of me all the time.

Hell, Steve and Two-Bit already call me jailbait, (Donna being eighteen and everything) and I can't escape it. Damn.

It's not that it hurts my feelings - I'm not as sensitive as I used to be. I know when they're joking around, but glory, does it get annoying.

And I know nobody ever gave Soda any shit about his choice of ladies, or anything. In fact, they always praised him when he got a girl.

Sometimes it's hell to be youngest.

* * *

**Let me start by saying that I am trying my best to write in a hippie's perspective, but am finding it quite difficult. Please tell me if I am failing miserably or not. **

**On that note, iiiiiiiiit's time fooooor, references (and things that deserve an explanation)!**

**-**"Nowhere Man" is a song by the Beatles. It's one of the first hits by the Beatles that is not about love.

-In case anyone was wondering (this isn't a reference) but patchouli is a plant that makes perfumes and oils that many people used instead of bathing. Gross, I know. ("_I was abducted and you were bangin' patchouli_"? Anyone know what that's from? Bonus points if you got that).

-Peaches was an actual record store where I'm from. It's now an FYE. My dad met Ozzy Osbourne at Peaches when he was younger. :-)

-_Face to Face _was an album by The Kinks.

-Kilroy was here ... God, I don't even know where to begin with this one. There are many hypotheses and theories about what the origins of this phenomenon are ... but the one I know most about is: there was believed to be a man named Kilroy who helped inspect World War II ships, and to show that he'd given his approval over the ship, he'd write "Kilroy was here" complete with a little drawing of a man peeking over a fence. People used to spray paint this all the time, everywhere. I still see "Kilroy was here" written on a few places around my town. There are other theories about this saying, but the majority of it was in the 1940s.***

-Steve and Two-Bit are watching _Gentleman Prefer Blondes _starring Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe.

Does anyone know how long after you get a draft notice it takes you to get sent off to boot camp (or, you know, whatever it's called)? I can't find any reliable sources, and I need to know for our dear Curly Shepard's sake. Thanks.

Thank you for reading. :-)

-grey

* * *

***Note that the explanation of "Kilroy was here" was given by my Literature teacher. I am just going to go with this because I am too lazy to do solid research on the subject.

See also: Foo was here, the Australian equivalent of Kilroy was here.


	9. I Can't Get No Satisfaction

**A/N: **New chapter, y'all. Hope you guys enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Wish you were mine. But you're not. Sighhh. Don't own. Swear words courtesy of the one and only Curly Shepard, and some others, I think. Short, kind of sad chapter. I'm sorry.

* * *

The phone's ring is what wakes me up the next morning.

I look to the clock on my wall. _4 AM? _

I slump back down into my bed and contemplate letting Darry or Soda get it instead. But after waiting a few seconds and still being able to hear the shrill, unceasing ringing I finally get it myself.

"Hullo…" I answer tiredly, in a daze.

"Curtis?"

My face scrunches up in confusion. "Curly?"

When he speaks, it sounds like there's water in his lungs. "Hey, Ponyboy, you may wanna come to my house."

I scratch my head absently. By the time I'm speaking, I already have my shoes on. "Sure, man. I'll be right over." Because when Curly Shepard calls you at 4 AM, he's either in some serious shit, or … well that's the only reason I could think of. But from the way he was talking, he seemed like he would self destruct any second.

I hang up the phone in a haste and walk to Darry's door.

"Darry!" I whisper. "Darry, I'm gonna go take the car out."

Groggy with sleep, he says, "What for?" I can hear the tiredness in his voice.

I say, "To go for a run. I haven't been running a lot with the cast and I need to stay in shape."

"Why can't you just go after work?"

"'Cause it'll be dark by then, Darry. 'Sides, it's funner to run in the morning."

"Okay, whatever," he mumbles. "Just be safe. Only go running at the school track."

As I walk away, I hear him mutter something about a "strange kid". I smile.

"Bye, Darry," I whisper to myself as I grab the keys off the counter and walk out the door.

* * *

The air is just as still and sticky as when I came home last night. I can't help but wonder when this dreaded heat wave will end. The heat is all I've known this summer. It's like I can't even remember a time without the heat there to constantly follow me around. And I know I sound about as whiny as Holden Caulfield, but damn it if this heat don't ruin summer for me. I'm a winter person.

I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. The black eye's almost gone, so besides the cast, there's hardly any evidence that I was jumped at all. Good. I wish the memory of that night could fade like the black eye, but it's pretty much etched into my brain.

After a few seconds of driving, I start to get nervous - maybe this is about the - the -

I can't even bring myself to say it. And I didn't tell anyone in the gang - Curly said he didn't want a lot of people to know and he seemed pretty adamant.

…not that I wanted to talk about it anyway. Lately with me it's been, if I don't think about it, it won't happen. And I know that's not exactly a healthy dynamic. But it works for me.

Actually, I'm sort of surprised Curly even got drafted. I'm surprised he's not a felon.

But oh God, he did, he did, he did.

What am I thinking? This could just be Curly calling me to help him out in a fight or something.

…not that I'd be much help.

But God, I need to stop being so pessimistic and morbid with my thoughts. I can't keep assuming the worst - one day it will kill me.

So I take a deep breath and turn the corner to Curly's decrepit, rundown house. Which is surprisingly more rundown than ours. Well, not surprisingly … Curly and Tim and Angela's mom and step dad don't do anything … and it's not like Tim is willing to jump up and take over on the whole cleaning thing…

They're all standing out in front of the house. And I mean everyone. Curly, Tim, Angela, all of Tim's gang, and Curly's mom and step dad.

I've only seen Curly's mom from when I've walked by his house and she was standing on the porch, smoking cigarettes usually. But now that I'm actually looking at her, I can see what she truly looks like. She has the same hair as Angela, though now slightly grey, and yellowing teeth.

And same with Frank. He's short, bald, and pudgy, and there's something not right with him. I don't like to really look at him, as terrible as that sounds.

So I run up to the house as fast as I can.

And that's when I really see Curly.

I look at him. Really look at him. He looks weird with his hair so short like that, but I guess it's like the mandatory hair cut or something. That's when my fears are confirmed - Curly would never cut his hair, it's his pride and joy. It's what makes him a greaser. Different from everyone else.

Maybe they just take away people like Curly's hair because it's really the only thing they have left to take.

He looks up at me, and suddenly, for possibly the first time, I don't see the tough-as-nails little brother of Tim Shepard. I see a scared kid - I see the panic-stricken face of the kid who fell off the telephone pole all those years back. I can picture Curly at ten, getting into fights with his mom and dead-beat dad. I see a twelve year old, screaming with his step dad Frank. But he looks the same in every flash. Scared. I know him. He's scared shitless. And after all these years it seems as though I'm finally seeing some chinks in the armor of Curly Shepard. It's just unfortunate that it took these circumstances to see it.

Curly walks up to me, away from the people in his yard. But this time, there's no confident strut with it, no leader-ish kind of swagger. He just looks tired, worn, and old. "Curtis."

"Hi, Curly."

"My fuckin' hair, man," is all he says.

"I'm sorry." It's all I can think to say.

"Yeah."

I nod and bite my lip. "Yeah."

God, this is sad. I feel like I'm just watching another friend go on a Kamikaze mission. It's like Dallas Winston all over again.

"I'm headin' off to Fort Sill in about a half hour. Me and Tim and Lou are goin'."

"Fort Sill? That's still in Oklahoma, ain't it?"

"Yeah. My letter said to go there. Then it's 'Nam for me. Ain't I just a lucky bastard?"

I have the urge to start bawling. "You can still run, you know." I try to keep my voice from shaking.

"No, I can't, man. I can't. It ain't that simple. They'd find me anyway. And I don't wanna be one o' them drifter people. That's stupid."

He puts his hand up as if to brush hair out of his eyes. I can't help but see that crestfallen look on his face when he realizes that there's no hair left to do that.

"I'm sorry, Curly."

"Don't be, Curtis. Just some gooks, right? Can't do much damage."

_Yes, Curly, _I want to scream. _Yes, they can! Don't you watch the news? _

I bite my lip again hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. This isn't fair. Curly didn't even have a choice. He's just a dumb kid, not a soldier. He doesn't deserve this. No one does.

"Just … just don't do anything stupid. Okay? Just don't."

"Me?" He attempts to smile. "Me? Doing something stupid? Never."

I give a shaky, unconvincing laugh. I wipe my eyes. "Just come back. Don't die."

Curly pops his finger knuckles. "If you ever tell anyone what I'm about to do, I'll kill you."

"Wha—"

Before I can get it out, Curly is hugging me.

That's something I never thought I could say. "Curly" and "hugging" don't usually go in the same sentence.

The hug is short - it ends just as quickly as it comes, but I'm still a little surprised.

"You be good here, Gimpy," he says, pointing to the cast on my hand. He hits me hard on the shoulder.

Still a little surprised, I say, "Yeah, yeah. You, too."

"So, I'll … uh … see ya."

"You write me letters, okay?"

"Don't hold your breath."

"Just … humor me."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

I nod mostly because my throat is too tight to speak.

The sun is starting to rise. I'll need to get back soon. I have work today.

…not that I'll be able to concentrate on anything today. All I can think is: _Curly's on a suicide mission. There's no way he'll make it out. _

_No way_

_No way_

_No way… _

…I don't think I could handle losing another friend.

And then he walks over by Tim and Lou, and when they pile into the car, that's when I think I'll really lose it.

I need to go. Now. Because I'll start crying and I don't want to do that here.

Glory, I'm a mess. All I can picture is Curly with his stupid-looking short hair and wearing a military uniform and shooting guns and killing people. Sure, Curly is a fighter and likes to beat people up, but he wouldn't kill anyone.

…I don't think.

But that's beside the point. He's not a soldier. He's just a kid, and it ain't fair.

I go back to the truck and cry.

* * *

I sit in the truck to gather my bearings a bit before going back to the house. I sit and listen to the radio for a minute to get me distracted. They're playing old radio soap operas - like the ones my mother used to listen to. She really liked _Stella Dallas. _And this just makes me sadder.

So I turn the dial a little bit and rub my burning eyes. My head pounds as I lean back in the seat.

I take a few breaths to recollect myself and then walk in to my house.

Soda's sitting on the couch when I walk in. "Morning," he says. He sips on some chocolate milk. "How was your run?"

"I didn't go running." My voice cracks, giving it all away.

Sodapop's head swivels to face me. "Pony, what's wrong?"

"Curly got drafted." I look up to the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. "He's goin' to Fort Sill and then Vietnam."

Soda's face falls and I sit on the couch. I rub my face in a last-ditch effort to stop from crying.

"I'm sorry," I apologize for no reason. Probably because I'm crying.

"Oh, Pone," I hear him murmur. But I can barely pay any attention to him.

"He called me today. Told me to meet up with him so we could—say goodbye or whatever."

I stand up and go into the kitchen. My fingers fumble uselessly around in my pockets as I hurriedly try to light a cigarette. Soda follows me in there.

"Come on," he mumbles. He pulls me into a hug. "It's okay, brother. Curly may be kinda thick but he knows how to fight. He's got good instinct, kid. He'll know what to do."

The only sounds filling the kitchen are Soda's soft reassurances and me sniffling.

* * *

"You don't have to go to work, you know."

I glare at Darry. "Yes, I do."

"Ponyboy, you don't. You work too much anyway. Why don't you take a break for a while?"

"Why?" I ask. "I'm fine."

"Curly was your friend, kid."

"_Was_?" I can't help but shriek. It comes out before I can control it. "You're all talkin' like he's already dead!"

Right now Darry, Soda, and me are sitting on the living room couch. I'm sandwiched between them.

"Oooookay," says Sodapop slowly. "I'm callin' your boss."

"It'll be okay," Darry says and pats my shoulder awkwardly. "Soda, I gotta head out. I'll be back later tonight."

"Alright, Dar. Just don't work yourself too hard, ya hear me?"

"Loud and clear. See you, guys."

* * *

Soda left a little later. All I've been doing today is sitting here, and man, I think it would have been better to go to work. At least I'd have something to keep my mind off things.

I've watched more episodes of _Doctor Who _than I can count.

So I call Donna.

She doesn't answer.

It's times like these where I realize how few of friends I have.

So I start to walk to the DX.

The air conditioning in the place is always nice. It's like you're walking in some kind desert and then you find a safe haven.

There's music playing in the place. "_When I'm drivin' in my car and that man comes on the radio and he's tellin' me more and more about some useless information supposed to fire my imagination_."

"Hey, Soda," I ask, because this is new, "when did you get music to play in here?"

"Oh, hey." He shrugs, his DX cap hanging loosely off the back of his head. "Oh, our boss bought a jukebox for us. Said it adds "atmosphere" to the place, whatever that means."

"Yeah." Steve pops his greasy head. "We can't figure out how to make it play Elvis. It's on either Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan constantly. Sucks ass."

"I agree," Sodapop says. "I kinda liked it more without the music. Makes workin' with people and on cars more confusing."

Steve goes back into the garage. "How you doin', kid?"

"Good. I tried to call Donna today. Didn't answer. So I came here. I needed more cigarettes anyway."

"Okay, here," he calls out from behind the counter. He throws me a pack.

I fish for some cash in my pocket. When I find it, the bills are crumpled but it does the job anyway.

"I'll give it to you half off," Sodapop says with a wink.

I shake my head. "No, Soda. It's fine, you don't have to keep givin' me discounts. Remember what your boss said about that last time?"

"I know, I know," he replies. "But he won't care. You can have it free if you really want them."

"No, just take all my money."

Sodapop laughs. "Quit bein' so stubborn!"

"You're bein' stubborn!"

He shoves me lightly. "Well, I'll take all the money and you can throw in a Pepsi."

That's tempting. Pepsi is one of my favorite things. "Uhhhh … okay. Fine. You win."

"I'm the king," he says triumphantly.

"Thanks, Soda."

"No problem, Ponyboy. Any time."

Sodapop is one of my favorite people. He's really a guy I can trust. He's one person that's always been there for me.

And Darry has been there for me, too. But Sodapop is one who I can always confide to. He always, always understands, naturally, automatically.

Though Darry may not just be able to understand things, he tries. And that's really all that matters.

* * *

I go and see a film to keep me occupied throughout the rest of the day.

I still think of Curly, of Angela - I saw her crying … it's so weird to have seen this girl cry. I had always thought she was physically incapable of it. She just probably forgot, like Tim and Dallas and Buck and all those tough hoodlums out there.

But the movie keeps my mind away from that.

Thank God.

* * *

"Hey, Ponyboy," Darry says to me that night. "I've been thinking … and…"

"Yeah?"

"I think that—that you're responsible enough to…"

"Yes?"

"To … own a car. I think we should go to a used car lot tomorrow and get one."

I can't believe my ears. "Really?"

"Sure. I can't believe I'm actually saying this. But yes."

"Yes! Thank you! Yes!"

* * *

**Some references, though there aren't a lot this time.**

-Holden Caulfield is the main character in _Catcher in the Rye_ by J.D. Salinger.

-_Stella Dallas _was a radio soap opera in the forties. They used to play soap operas on the radio, which I think is actually pretty darn cool.

-_Doctor Who _is a kick-ass TV show which is _still _on today! Longest running sci-fi show in history.

**-**The song heard in the DX is called "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones.

* * *

I'm sorry that's it!

Also: this was one of the first chapters I wrote (and I know writing not in chronological order can be a bad idea) so it's a little old. I fixed it a little bit though because I wasn't happy with the scene with Curly and Ponyboy. So, my apologies if this chapter sucks.

As always, thanks for reading! Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, and please leave more! Thank you! :-)

-grey

(P.S. - I got a PM asking me why I dubbed myself** grey**. First of all, I didn't start calling myself this. You don't just give yourself nicknames. And anonymous reviewer named "Violet" called me this on my first ever story published "A Little Too Far?" which is now thankfully deleted.)


	10. Take Another Little Piece of My Heart

**A/N: **Howdy, y'all. I'm sorry this took such a long time to get posted. I just haven't felt like posting and I keep going back and editing some of the chapters I've typed up. I'm sorry it took so long.

**Disclaimers: **The usual. If you recognize something I most likely don't own it. So I'm not taking credit for it. Pardon typos, please!

* * *

It's a surprisingly chilly day outside, which is a nice break from the constant heat that's been blanketing over Tulsa the entire summer.

I'm stacking books when the doorbell rings. I hear Ruby's usual, "Hi, welcome to Lansdowne." and I go back to work.

Suddenly someone's arms are wrapped around my waist and I jump.

"Jumpy today, are we?" a female voice asks me.

I laugh and rub my cast. "Golly, you scared me, Donna."

"I can see that," she says with a smile.

My coworker Joey is beside me, helping me rearrange the books that previous customers have so haphazardly thrown everywhere. He's quiet and almost brooding, pensive. He never talks to me, or anyone really, but we're all used to that now.

He glares at Donna but doesn't say anything. I look at him, and then to Donna, but she seems oblivious to the proverbial daggers he's throwing her way.

Ruby walks to the back of the store where we're at, and I see that Eric is taking over the front check-out desk for her. Joey walks away as soon as he sees her ("He really hates me, and I don't know what I did," Ruby always tells me). He disregards Ruby's hurt look and leaves.

I look at my girlfriend. "You never come to my work, Donna. What's the occasion? To whom do I owe this pleasure?"

She hits me lightly on the arm. "What do you mean, baby?" she asks. "I can't visit you at your work?"

"I never said that," I tell her with a patient smile. "You just never come. What are you doin' here? Ain't you babysittin' your neighbor's kids today?"

"Not until later." She runs a hand through her short, windblown hair. "I was bored. I wanted to see you. We haven't hung out in a while."

She kisses me for a really long time right then and there. "Okay," I say. "Donna, I'm at work. I gotta finish stacking the books."

"What?" Donna's lips form a pout. "Work is more important than me? Is that what you're saying?"

My eyes widen. I feel my breath leave me as Ruby starts laughing. _Laughing. _At Donna.

Oh, _God_. You don't laugh at Donna. And Ruby doesn't deserve Donna's wrath. No one really does.

I shake my head at Ruby as Donna's eyes trail over to her. "And who is this, Ponyboy?" she asks, her eyes not leaving Ruby's face.

Ruby scrutinizes her back with the same - if not more - amount of intensity. "I'm Ruby," she says kindly, her soft voice not matching her fierce eyes.

"Ruby," Donna repeats. Her eyes squint. Oh, glory, there's going to be a fight in the middle of Lansdowne books and I'll only have myself to blame.

"I'm one of Ponyboy's coworkers. And you are?"

"I'm his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend, huh?" Ruby turns to me, her one eyebrow quirked up Two-Bit style.

I nod wordlessly, not wanting to intervene on the impending smack down.

"Oh," Ruby says, looking slightly hurt (for reasons why I am not sure). "Oh."

"What?" I can't help but ask her, putting _Slaughterhouse 5 _on the shelf under authors V.

"Nothing," she states. "You two enjoy each other."

I grimace, running a hand through my greaseless hair. "That was weird," I say.

"You're telling me. "_You two enjoy each other_"." Donna frowns. "What…what do you think she meant by that?"

"Donna, why did you have to do that?"

She looks incredulous. She gives a shrug as she says, "Do what?"

I go on, ignoring her. "You always do that. Can't you just get along with people for once?"

"Do what? Baby, what did I do?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You always scare people that I like away. Are you just jealous or something?"

I feel bad for what I'm saying but it's all true. I've never had a friend that ain't a friend of Donna's. She scares all my female friends away and now I got a reputation, and that ain't fair.

"Jealous?" She scoffs. "Yeah, Pony, I'm _jealous._ Right."

I breathe through the hurt. This was not how I was planning my day to go. "Don't Worry Baby" is playing over the tinny radio throughout Lansdowne, and I can't help but think that this is the worst song to be playing at this moment.

"Whatever. It's just that…why are you so—so—"

"Oh, come on!" she explodes. "That Ruby girl is so into you!"

"No, she isn't! We're just friends! She's not into me like that!"

Donna stares at me. My eyebrows knit together. "She was totally undressing you with her eyes!"

"_What?_" I shout, because that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

Eric comes back and shushes us. "Ponyboy, you're going to scare the customers away."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Eric." I turn back to Donna. "You're gonna get me fired!"

She folds her arms across her chest and huffs. Her glares are caustic. "You're picking me up to take me the strip tonight, right?"

"I thought you were babysitting," I say defiantly.

"_You're picking me up to take me to the strip tonight, right_?"

My teeth grind together so hard I might chip one. "Yeah, sure, whatever." I shrug dismissively.

But I don't want to.

* * *

I go to the checkout desk to talk to Ruby. There are so many things I would like to say to her…so many things I could possibly ask. Because that outburst was not normal. Especially for someone like Ruby.

"So…what was that about?"

"What was what about?" Ruby says innocently as she braids her long hair. She's being extremely absentminded today.

"The whole "_You two enjoy each other_". Are you mad at me or something?"

She bites her lip sheepishly. "No, I'm not mad…I don't know," she mumbles. "I feel pretty bad about that. Does she hate me?"

"Donna hates everyone."

"Well, Pony, if you don't mind me asking, why are you going out with her then? Hate can have a very negative impact on everyone."

"That's a good question." One I don't even know the answer to anymore. "It seems like all we do is fight nowadays."

She puts her hand on my shoulder, her long fingers wrapping tightly around. "I'm sorry," she says.

"It ain't your fault." I sigh. "I don't want to break up with her. I like her. I just…she is so difficult sometimes."

Ruby is someone I can confide to. She's like my Johnny, my Sodapop. Someone Donna _should _be.

"It'll get better," she comforts. "I know it will. My momma always said that it'll always turn out okay in the end."

I smile.

The doorbell gives its clang, telling us someone has walked in. "Hi, welcome to Lansdowne," we say simultaneously.

And like that, we're friends again.

* * *

I'm sitting at home, watching _Dragnet, _waiting for Darry to pick me up to get me a car.

He finally does, albeit filled with regret, I'm sure. And now we're driving to the used car dealership that Two-Bit works at.

"I'm so excited," I tell my oldest brother. Wiping my hands on my jeans in anticipation, I grin.

"Well, good." The way he says shows that he's obviously not as excited about this as I am.

"What's the matter?"

It seems as though Darry has been very unusually…_distant. _He hasn't been his usual _I'm like a parent so I'll pry into your life _Darry.

"Nothin's botherin' me, Pone," he says. His grip on the steering wheel is like a vice; his knuckles are turning white.

I bite my lip and look at his face. "You sure about that?"

He looks at me strangely. "'Course I'm sure. What gives you the impression of anything different?"

"I don't know, Dar. You're just…_quieter_."

"_Quieter_?"

"For, um, lack of a better word."

My oldest brother throws a crooked grin in my direction, his eyes averting back to the road, which he so vigilantly pays attention to.

"Am I usually not quiet?"

"No," I say.

It seems as though my brother is the eye of the hurricane. Like he's waiting for me to do something wrong but I haven't yet, so he's calm for now. But then I'll mess that up and the storm will move and _bam_! We'll have a hurricane to deal with.

"I mean…you can't blame me for being nervous."

My face screws up in thought. "What are you nervous about, Dar?"

"Ponyboy, it's just that…this is a big step to take. I mean, you're right. You need a car. You're growin' up, you got yourself a girlfriend. I just can't believe how much you've grown. I remember when you were a baby, kiddo."

I try to cover the shock of Darry's outburst. He's not usually one to broadcast his feelings so openly like that, so it's somewhat surprising. "Glory," I breathe. "And that concludes deep thoughts with Darry Curtis."

Darry rolls his eyes at me and I assume that this is the end of the conversation.

* * *

A huge, toothy grin breaks out on Two-Bit's face when me and Darry enter. "You little son of a gun."

I can't help but smile back. He has that effect on people. Two-Bit's laughs are naturally contagious.

"Soooo…" he says dramatically. "What are you looking for, Pony_man_?"

"Aw, knock it off, Two-Bit. It don't matter, I just want something with four wheels and that I can drive."

"Oh." Two-Bit's eyebrows waggle in that way that shows he's trying real hard not to bust up laughing. "I think I got somethin' that'll interest ya."

I want to knock my friend out as he shows me a Volkswagen Beetle.

He throws his head back and cackles, wildly and so Two-Bit like I realize my friend really hasn't changed at all.

I groan.

"Come on, Two-Bit. Where are the real cars?"

"Aw, lighten up, kid," Two-Bit says. "Soon you'll end up like ol' Muscles here."

Darry smacks Two-Bit upside the head. "Ow!" exclaims Two-Bit. "Come on, Darry! Not at my work!"

"So, how do you like it here, Two-Bit?" I ask to keep the peace.

Two-Bit slings his arm around my shoulders and says, "Well, you know, Pony, I didn't think I'd really dig the whole _workin' _thing."

"But?"

"But…it actually ain't so bad. I mean, I miss the days where I was a single, school-bound kid."

"You mean an eighteen year old junior."

"Tomato, _tomato._" He shrugs. "Whatever you want to say. But I'm glad I finally got a job."

"Took you long enough," Darry grunts.

"That's true, Darry, that is true." Two-Bit tightens his grip and wraps his arms around my neck. "If it weren't for the kid here I'd probably _still_ be goin' nowhere."

I sigh. He gives me too much credit.

* * *

A used (but still very nice) 1963 Studebaker Avanti.

It's cheap, it's used, but it runs and the brakes work. It's black, it's awesome, it's like my own Batmobile.

It's cheap mostly because of the amount of money Two-Bit took off for us. "The family discount," he said even though Darry and I were protesting.

But I don't care; I'm euphoric.

"You be careful with this, kiddo. You treat it how you treat that girl o' yours." Two-Bit ruffles my hair with exaggerated force. But then, more quietly he says, "Seriously, man. Be careful. We can't handle anything happening to anyone else."

I frown at Two-Bit's cryptic choice of words.

He pats me on the arm and then Darry and I are leaving. "Darry," I call from my car (_my! My car!_), "I'm gonna go out to the strip with Donna tonight, okay?"

"Sure, Pony. Soda and Steve may be goin' out there later tonight. Just make sure you're all back at eleven."

"Sure thing."

* * *

Donna's surprisingly mellow after her outburst at Lansdowne. She even kisses me on the cheek.

"Whose car is this? I didn't recognize it."

"It's mine," I say with a grin I can't hold back.

"Yours? Oh, Pony," she says, "that's great."

She's holding something underneath her arm, and she hands it to me.

"_Revolver_?"

"I want you to listen to this record start to finish because it changed my life. I feel like it will change your life too. Which is why you have to listen to it."

She can be so bossy. "But, Donna…I don't think I have a record player." _And I don't want to listen to this Socy music. _

"Well, you need to find one."

I raise my eyebrows.

She goes on. "Or…well, maybe you could come back to my house one day and we can listen to it together."

I pull up to an abandoned parking lot which is a few minutes away from the strip. "I'd like that," I say with a grin.

* * *

I'm pretty sure Darry didn't want me to get a car just so I could kiss my girlfriend in it but so far that's the only thing exciting that I've done with it.

It's easier to kiss her than it is to talk to her. And I admit, that's a horrible thing to say. But I can't help but know that it's true.

"I need to get home," Donna suddenly says mid-kiss, her hair disheveled and lipstick smeared.

"What? Why?"

"I have to babysit my neighbor's kids."

"I thought you said you didn't have to do that tonight," I say.

"I said no such thing."

"But, we didn't even go to the strip or anything…we were only hear for about twenty minutes."

"I just wanted to spend some time with you. We've been fighting a lot lately, I just wanted to get in some time for you. I need you to drive me back."

"Okay," I agree, though I'm internally seething. Why would she make me take her out here just for me to drive her back?

* * *

"Hey, Pone," Soda greets me at the door. "I thought you were hangin' out with Donna tonight."

"That was the original plan," I say.

"Well…me and Steve and Two-Bit are goin' out to the strip tonight. Maybe meet some people. Go on an adventure. Wanna come?"

"Sure. Though I don't really like to think of Two-Bit goin' on an "adventure"."

He laughs, his teeth white and straight. "We're leavin' in a few minutes, so be ready."

* * *

Two-Bit and I are sitting on the hood of his car. He's on his fourth beer, Soda and Steve on their first. They offered me some to drink from their spot on the curb, but I reclined.

"Do you ever feel like you're being watched?" Two-Bit asks between belches.

Steve and Sodapop look at each other; they seem to be pondering the question.

"Like "Big Brother's always watching"?" I say as an attempt to humor him. Soda cracks his knuckles against the concrete.

"No, no. I don't know."

"What, do you feel like you're bein' watched now?" Steve wonders aloud.

"No, I was just wonderin' if you've ever felt that way."

"You're drunk already, Two-Bit," I tell him. "You'd think your alcohol tolerance would be higher by now, you lightweight."

"Have _you_ ever felt like you were bein' watched, Two-Bit?" questions Sodapop.

"Not that I know of."

He belches.

"Gross, man." Steve wrinkles his nose and grimaces. "That's disgustin'."

* * *

We walk in a long, horizontal line down the strip, stopping many times along the line to talk to people we know.

I see Terry Jones. He's sitting in a pile of crumpled beer cans, talking to Lou, one of Curly Shepard's buddies.

The air smells like sweat, beer, and weed. It's gotten hotter; early this morning there was a chill in the air, but now there's a lingering, sticky heat. We can't go two minutes without hearing Steve flap his mouth about it.

Terry gives a very dramatic, conspicuous wave. I wave back slightly, noticing how my t-shirt is sticking to my back from the heat.

I walk up to him and I see that Sodapop is chatting up a pretty blonde girl. I can see his smile in my peripheral vision. Steve and Two-Bit are talking to some other hoods. I try not to watch Soda but I hope that this is a relationship this time. He needs a girl; hasn't had a real relationship since Sandy. And I hope this is different.

"How you doin', Curtis?" Terry laughs like a loon. "You want some of this?" He hands a smoke in my direction.

"What is it?"

"It's hookah."

"What's that? It ain't drugs, is it?"

"Nah. It's only flavored tobacco."

I smile, relieved that he's not doing drugs out in the open like that. He can be stupid. And I wouldn't be surprised if he did that.

"No thanks."

He waves again and I walk towards Two-Bit and Steve.

There's a hippie girl sitting on a blanket, strumming her guitar and singing a tune I can barely recognize. "_Didn't I make you feel, like you were the only man_? _Didn't I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can?" _She has a nice voice. If I had money on me I'd give her some.

Me and Two-Bit and Steve are standing next to each other, in between the hustle and bustle that is the strip.

"Who is that?" I ask them, pointing to the blonde Soda's talking to.

"I don't know," Steve says. "She always comes up to the DX. Susie something…"

Sodapop sidles up to us, his face happy and content.

We ask him about this "Susie". We look out for Soda. Especially in the relationship sense. We all remember how he was devastated after Sandy...even though we'd all like to forget.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, her?" He grins. "She's just a girl who comes up to my work sometimes. Melissa Collins."

"You weren't even close, Steve." I grin and Steve snickers.

"I thought her name was Susie."

Sodapop laughs at this. "I like her a lot, man. She's real nice and funny."

"Well, you should go out with her," I suggest lightly.

"Oh, I am," Soda replies, grinning ear to ear.

"That's good." Steve claps him on the shoulder.

I'm about to give him a pat on the back myself when I see her. Possibly the worst person I could possibly see. Someone I've made sure I've avoided at all costs...usually.

Angela Shepard.

And she's walking right toward me.

* * *

**Read this, if you want! :-)**

-_Slaughterhouse Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut is the book Ponyboy is stacking on the shelf.

-"Don't Worry, Baby" is a song by the Beach Boys.

-_Dragnet _is a TV show, obviously. It was on for a very long time.

-_Revolver _is a Beatles album. It was released in 1966. I love it. One of my favorites.

-"Big Brother is always watching" is a reference to _1984 _by George Orwell.

-The song that hippie girl is singing is "Piece of My Heart" by Big Brother and the Holding Company (Janis Joplin's band. Though the song _is_ on a lot of her solo "greatest hits" albums). Off the album _Cheap Thrills. _Though the song was originally by Erma Franklin, it became hugely popular when Janis's band did it. So it's most likely she is singing that version.

* * *

As always, thanks for reading!


	11. Takes Two to Know

**A/N: **A pretty quick update for my lovely reviewers. It's full of angst, humor, tragedy, and romance. Please tell me how you feel about this.

**Disclaimer: **Only own the OCs. No one else. I only write for fun, yo. Pardon typos.

* * *

She stands there, petite and short, giving me a look full of _want_. It's written all over her face; you can always tell when Angela wants something. It seems as though now she wants to ruin my life. And Angela Shepard always gets what she wants.

"Hi, Ponyboy." Her voice is saccharine, laced with condescension and lust. I almost can't believe that this was the girl who was crying over her brother's departure just a few days ago.

I rub my arm and soften my stance a little. "Hi, Angela."

Steve and Two-Bit and Soda stare at us in awe, their glances drifting from me to Angela and back again.

"Do you guys know each other well?" Sodapop finally asks.

Oh, glory, there are so many ways this could go wrong. And I want to throttle my brother for saying anything at all.

"Oh, yeah," she says, her eyes not leaving me. "I'd say we know each other pretty damn well."

She looks over at Sodapop, her hair falling over her shoulder. It's so black it's blue.

Steve appears confused by this, and he eyes me in suspicion. "Oh," Angela says with a laugh that's just so condescending. She is an awful person. Her eyes widen, amused, and she looks back to me. "Oh! They don't know? Ponyboy, you sly dog."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, my brain screams.

Two-Bit snorts into his palm.

"What is she talking about?" Sodapop asks, his eyebrows knitted together. "Do you guys even know each other?"

Angela stares at me. "Boy, does he know me."

"Shut up," I whisper, only loud enough for her to hear.

She clutches her chest. "Well." She claps her hands together. "It seems as though you got some explaining to do, Ponyboy Curtis."

I glare at her as hard as I can, hating her and her condescending ways with every ounce I got. She winks at me.

The guys are still just staring at me. Two-Bit's got a slight grin on his face, like he's trying hard not to burst out laughing. I'm glad he's making the effort to not laugh right now because that would make this situation even more embarrassing than it already is.

She stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, "Call me sometime, Pony. I miss us."

I want to say, _In your dreams, Angela, _but I can't. It's like she's put me in a trance, my mouth sealed shut. I'm rooted to the spot.

Then, Angela Shepard is sashaying away, in that confident air she always has.

Two-Bit cracks up, his laughter hearty and he grabs his stomach. I'm too embarrassed to do anything.

"Ponyboy," Soda says, "what was that all about?"

"I'm still trying to figure out what the hell just happened."

"Steve," I say. "So am I."

"Did you—" Two-Bit can't even get out what he's trying to say because he's laughing too hard. "Did you and Angela—"

Sodapop sits down on a nearby curb. "Did you and Angela…have a thing?"

I bite my lip. "I…maybe."

Steve and Soda join Two-Bit in his cackles, each of them bellowing out their jovial laughs, laughing at me.

"What?" Sodapop asks, obviously appalled. "When did this happen?"

"It was a while ago…after I broke up with Cathy Carlson…"

Steve wipes at his eyes. He laughed so hard he's made himself cry. I'm burning with anger.

"Well, I gotta say, Pone. You coulda done better," Soda tells me, chuckling like an idiot.

"Hush up," I mutter defiantly. "It doesn't really count."

"Man, you went out with Angela Shepard?"

"Briefly. Very, _very_ briefly."

"She's kinda hot, though," Two-Bit says. "I'd hit that broad."

"Jesus, Two-Bit." Steve shakes his head in disgust. "She's not even legal, you pervert."

"Doesn't make her less attractive."

I squeeze the bridge of my nose, my eyes shut tight. I don't want to look at any of them right now.

"Oh my God," Soda says out of nowhere. "My brother, man, Ponyboy, I didn't really think she was your type of girl."

"She's not," I remark, sagging weakly onto the curb next to him. "We didn't really go out. Not really."

"'Didn't really go out'," Steve quotes me. He asks, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, we never actually…" Shamefaced, I bow my head low. "We never really…talked."

Their eyes light up as they realize what I mean by this. "Oh, Ponyboy, you sly dog."

"We just made out a lot." Golly, I'm so embarrassed about that. I am the most shallow person on the face of the earth, maybe even shallower than Angela Shepard for going along with everything. I should have _relationships, _not someone I don't even like. "She's kind of a hard person to talk to."

I feel worse than the dirt under my nails.

Soda's smiling, almost fondly. "My brother…" He shakes his head, but he's still grinning ear to ear. "My brother's a ladies' man!"

"Oh, God, Soda, no I'm not."

"I think you are, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says. "Pony_man._"

I grit my teeth and squeeze my hands together, my fingernails making little indentations into the skin on my palms.

"What made you break up with her?" Steve asks, with an overly patronizing grin, Angela Shepard style. "I think you guys would be cute together. Like the Cleaver family."

I groan. "More like the Munsters."

Two-Bit claps his hands in lively amusement, kicking an empty crushed beer can out of his way as he sits on the other side of me.

They all laugh again, probably thinking of the obscurity, the absurdity of it all. Little Ponyboy Curtis, once so afraid of girls, takes on the most frightening, tough broad out there.

They go on deriding me for a few more minutes. "Yeah, go on and laugh." I breathe an annoyed breath through my nose. "See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you guys."

"I'm sorry, Pone," Soda says, instantly stopping. His handsome face turns serious. He whispers, "You know you can tell me anything, Pony. I wouldn't judge you. I don't judge you at all."

"You're so convincing," I snap dryly at him. "Your laughing isn't judging me at all."

"I'm sorry," he says with a smile. "It's just…my brother. My kid brother. Hookin' up with Angela Shepard! It's just—it boggles my mind."

"Why?" I ask. "Why can you guys constantly pick up chicks and it ain't nothing new but when I do it, it's funny?"

"It's not that we find the fact that you're with girls now funny," Steve explains. "I mean, you're what, sixteen now?"

Two-Bit finishes with, "It's just the _girl _that's funny to us."

"No, it ain't. You guys make fun of me for goin' with Donna, too."

"Well…" Steve shrugs. "Donna's gotta stick up her ass."

"Hey!" I defend her, because I'm the only one who's allowed to say that. "Don't say that about her."

Two-Bit hits him on the back of the head. "Yeah, man. That's his girlfriend."

They simultaneously guffaw again, leaning their heads back in a fluent motion.

"Whatever," I say. "I'm gonna go home."

"Aw, Pone, come on," Soda says. "I'm sorry. I actually happen to like Donna. I think she's…nice."

"She's not nice," I say. "She's the polar opposite of nice."

"Then why are you goin' out with her?"

"I—I don't know! How many people are gonna ask me this?"

"I don't know," Two-Bit says. "But why are you with her? I'm genuinely curious."

"I am too. I don't really think you're…compatible," says Steve. He crunches the beer can Two-Bit kicked away under his foot.

I almost tell him that I'm impressed by his usage of "compatible", but I don't. Instead, I ponder his words. We're not compatible? Maybe we're not.

"I'm just sayin', I'd dump her if I were you." Soda elbows Steve.

"You don't have to do that," my older brother says sagely. "Do whatever you think is right. We want you to be happy. Don't we, guys?"

"Oh, yeah." Two-Bit flashes the _a-okay _sign. "On cloud nine happy."

I put my head in my hands and sigh.

* * *

"You know," Two-Bit says as we walk to the truck. "We should have taken the Ponymobile."

"The what?" Steve and I ask in unison.

"Ponyboy's car. The Ponymobile."

"No, Two-Bit. That sounds stupid."

"I agree," Steve backs me up. "It sounds like the Batmobile, except with ponies on it."

"Well, we could put pictures of ponies on it."

"Please don't."

"Or," Two-Bit suggests, "we could put pictures of Ponyboy all over it."

"Please don't," I repeat.

The truck is cramped as we drive back home. The back seat doesn't have a lot of room for me and Two-Bit. Maybe we should have taken the Ponymobile.

* * *

On Saturday, Ruby isn't at work.

At first, I don't get alarmed. Even though Ruby is the most diligent worker in the place. She's never missed a day, not even that one time she was violently sick.

So, I worry a little. I stack books and accidentally put them on the wrong shelf. I can't concentrate correctly today.

I hope to see her on Monday.

* * *

On Sunday, I don't talk to Ruby or Donna, but I take the Ponymobile out.

I curse myself for accidentally calling my car that; I picked up the habit.

I want to use my car a lot, even when I don't need to. Even if it uses up gas. I'm still not over the fact that I've got my own car now. I can drive whenever and wherever I want.

I drive to my school's track and run a few laps around, but it's so scorching hot I'm afraid I'll have a heat stroke.

* * *

Later that evening, Darry takes me to go get my cast off. We take the Ponymobile.

Words can't describe how much better I feel with it off, even though the skin that was underneath it is paler than the rest and there's a faint tan line.

The cast enclosed hand is a little weaker than the other; it still hurts to move it a little bit because it's been put in the same position for weeks.

My two fingers don't bend the same anymore. They can hardly bend at all. But I'm not disappointed. I brought it all on myself.

* * *

Monday rolls around, and Ruby isn't there.

_Now_, I think, _now I'm worried. _

Two days? In a row? Something's gotta be going on.

So, at the end of the long day, I ask Mary about it. "Do you know where Ruby is?"

"Oh," Mary says softly, putting her hand to her heart. "That poor child."

"What?" I feel my heartbeat in my ears, pounding heavy. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't hear?"

_Get on with it! _"Hear what?"

Mary looks down.

"Her brother died in Vietnam."

* * *

My heart pounds as I run. My feet making smacking sounds against the pavement are the only noises I can hear. I want to run away from my thoughts, run away from the world and to a place where there is no war, where innocent people like Ruby's brother aren't being killed in a war we have no business in.

I push forward with a burst of speed and then slow my stride.

My forehead creases. I can only imagine how Ruby is feeling.

For not the first time, nor the last, I close my eyes and thank my lucky stars that neither of my brothers will get drafted. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I run the rest of the way home.

* * *

I want to call her. I want to talk to her, to hear her voice.

But what do you say to someone like this? I'm sorry? I remember when my parents died. I remember not wanting anyone's condolences. I remember just wanting to be myself.

But I call her anyway. "Hello?" she answers. Her voice sounds thick, her throat clogged, like she's been crying and is trying to stop.

"Hi, Ruby," I say softly, wishing I could drag the phone into my room. "It's Ponyboy."

"Oh, hey, Pony."

"How are you?"

"So you heard, huh?"

"I heard," I say. "How are you?"

"I'm…" I think she's going to say fine, but then she doesn't. "I'm not okay, Pony. You know, I'm usually an optimistic person. But all I've been doing is listening to _The Piper at the Gates of Dawn _record on repeat, thinking "what if?". Like, what if my brother never got sent to 'Nam? What if he were still here today? What if there was never a war in the first place?"

She's crying real hard again, her words barely making any sense. "Do you want me to come over?"

Her sobs are loud and incoherent. I take that as a yes.

* * *

Ruby lives in this little, rundown apartment, that's mostly comprised of other hippies. It's not like a hippie home like where Randy lives as much as a cozy, psychedelic area.

Beatles posters hang up everywhere in her room, along with Rolling Stones and Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix.

Oscar is sitting on the bed next to her. I could recognize his thick, cockney drawl anywhere. "It's okay, Kitten," he soothes. "It'll be okay."

Oscar looks up at me, and walks over. "Good, you're here. She's been asking for you, poor girl. I've to go shortly, so I'm glad you're here."

"How long has she been like this?" I stare at her; she's slouched into her hemp, peace sign pillow. Her hair is a tangled mess.

"For a while now. I live in the apartment next to her. I could hear her crying through the walls," he whispers.

I walk away from him, and over to Ruby. Determined, I flop onto her bed. "Hi, Ruby," I say gently.

She looks up at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, her face twisted up into a grimace. She's so close to crumbling, and looking at her, I just want to crumble, too.

I gather her in a hug. She loses what little composure she managed to gain as she sobs into me. "Hey, hey, listen," I whisper. "Hey, I know it's hard. But it will get better. You may never get over it, but it will get better. I know what you're goin' through."

She sobs into my ear. "How would you know?" and she sounds so hurt and broken I just can't stand. "How would you have any idea?"

This makes me want to laugh. Not only have I experienced first hand what this is like with four different people, I've been dubbed by many the "poster boy for horrific tragedies".

And I tell her something I've never really mentioned before in the past. My parents. It's weird, because most people in Will Rogers know all about my past and Ruby has no idea. So it's weird to have to explain it to someone who has no idea.

"Well," I try to keep my tone light. "My parents…" I swallow, wondering how I should word this. "My parents died in an auto wreck when I was thirteen…" I don't mean to upstage her grief, or have some sort of demented contest about who's lost more, because loss is loss and it hurts a lot. I just want her to know that I know what she's feeling.

There's music blaring in the background. "_Oh, Arnold Layne is not the same…takes two to know, two to know. Why can't you see?" _

"What?" she sobs into my shoulder. "Oh, God, Ponyboy…"

She cries harder, and I regret saying anything at all. My intention wasn't to make her sadder. I just wanted her to know that we share a common ground to a certain extent.

"I'm sorry," she says as she weakly leans against my shoulder. "I just…I'm—"

"Shh." I put a finger to her lips. "It's okay."

Oscar leaves, watching us with a smile on his face.

* * *

Ruby puts in a Janis Joplin record, her voice calm and relaxing. It's helping Ruby to mellow out heaps.

"You're too good to me," Ruby says, hours later. She's calmed down some, hasn't cried in a while. We've sat for a while, listening to Revolver.

I ignore the feeling of guilt in my stomach. I was supposed to listen to it with Donna. But I would much rather listen to it with Ruby.

"Aw, it ain't nothing."

I watch her as she seems to think about this. She shakes her head defiantly. Her eyes are still slightly pink, but I think she's all done with crying now.

"It is, though." She grabs my face. "It's so much more than nothing. It's everything."

I look down at the floor with a timid grin on my face.

"Thank you," she says sincerely, beautiful eyes shining in sincerity. "It means the world to me."

I lean back against the wall that the bed is perched up against. I wish Donna would talk to me like this. "You give me too much credit." I sigh. "Everyone does."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit." She leans next to me. "You're such a great person, Ponyboy Curtis. You're the greatest person I've ever met."

I realize then and there that I love her. And I can't believe I have been so blind.

She's always been there, through thick and thin, through everything. I love everything about her. Her long blonde hair, her love for reading, even the gap between her front teeth.

I'm looking at her (almost like for the first time), and oh, gosh, she's so beautiful.

* * *

**Not a lot this time, sorry, folks. **

- The Cleaver family is the family on the TV show _Leave it to Beaver. _They are so perfectly happy and unrealistic it's disgusting.

- _The Munsters _was a TV show in the mid sixties. It was about some monsters who were, like, a couple.

- The Ponymobile is a term made by fanfic user **Blunz. **Check **Blunz **out! I can't take credit for making this up at all.

- _The Piper at the Gates of Dawn _is an album by Pink Floyd. It was released in the late sixties. It was when they had their psychedelic sound, when they had one of their original front men Syd Barrett. RIP, Syd.

- The song that is playing in the background is "Arnold Layne" by Pink Floyd. It was on the Piper at the Gates of Dawn. It was their first hit.

That's all, I think!

* * *

As always, thank you so much for reading and for taking the time out of your day to review. I hope you like this chapter.


	12. And Though the Holes Were Rather Small

**A/N: **Wow, um, this chapter took me a lot longer to post than I was originally intending. Not much of an excuse, I've just been preparing for my freshman year. Also, **I changed my username from greyhoundredux to Begonias. **Just in case you were wondering. I can't really go by grey anymore, haha. So, pardon the wait and pardon typos. Also, I want to say thank you for reviewing, because I got a shit-ton the last chapter. You're all lovely.

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own, and never will own.

* * *

"Ruby?" I whisper quietly in the darkness.

I wait a little for her response. She doesn't answer. When I look over, I see her asleep, the lines in her face smoothed out. She looks so peaceful in sleep. If only she'd stay like that when she was awake, too.

I smile crookedly. Her tangled hair covering her face, she breathes in and shifts on her bed. I'm glad she's finally sleeping so good; she'd told me she hadn't slept since she heard _the news_.

The music blares loud, and _"One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do…" _drones from the turntable, and I can't help but notice that that is an awful song to be playing at the moment, especially because earlier Ruby was crying so hard about being all alone. All by herself (which I don't get, because she still _has_ her parents).

Deciding not to wake her, I grab the purple, string-bound notebook that lays on her bedside table and I scrawl down a note.

_Ruby—_

_You were sleeping so I didn't want to wake you up. _

_I want to say thank you. You're truly a great person, greater than me, than anybody. I don't really deserve to have someone as tuff as you to be my friend. _

_And we're all here for you, even my friends and brothers. I know it ain't fun to have to hear the "I'm sorrys" and the annoying stuff like that, but really, it does get better, I promise. _

_Your brother died noble. For the country, which is pretty amazing, I think. It's nice that he died so gallant. _

_Because now your brother's watching over us, just like my parents and my friends—Johnny and Dallas. _

_It may be hard right now but it will get better eventually. Maybe not anytime soon, but trust me, it will. _

_I love you. _

I stare at the message I just thoughtlessly wrote down, not even paying attention to what I was saying.

I stare.

And stare.

And stare.

And then, I rip the letter out of the notebook and I crumble it into a ball. I toss it into her trashcan, watching as it zips past Ruby's head and right into the basket.

What am I doing? I ask myself. I can't be goin' around doing this. I've got a girlfriend.

I take another page out, mindlessly writing something to tell her I left, and then I leave.

Jesus.

* * *

"Where've you been, kiddo?" Soda asks, lightly slapping me on the face.

"Ruby's." I look down at the floor. "Her brother just died."

Soda's face becomes crestfallen. He's so sympathetic, so understanding of others, even to people he doesn't know. "Ruby? That's the girl you work with, ain't it?"

"Yeah, that's her," I say tiredly. "She's really broke up about it." And then, to change the subject, I say, "Where's everybody at?"

"Two-Bit stopped by earlier. I ain't got the slightest notion of where Steve is." Sodapop's eyes light up. "Darry's got a date tonight."

"Really?" I ask with a smile, my frown fading.

"Yeah, some girl he met at work or something…I don't really know, man."

"Soda…" I mutter suddenly. "I gotta talk to you about something."

"Okay." He sits down on the couch, patting it to tell me to sit next to him. "Shoot. What do you need?"

"I, uh…" I don't how to say this. "I don't like Donna…anymore. I mean, I…I like someone else. And I don't know what to do."

Soda's face makes it look like he's deep in thought. "Tell me something, Ponyboy." He looks at me with a totally knowing smile. "Is this girl…Angela Shepard?"

"What?" I sputter. "N—no…_No_, Sodapop. It definitely ain't her." I breathe out a shaky laugh.

"Good," he laughs. "I don't want little Curlys and Angelas being my nieces and nephews."

"Gross." I shiver, thinking about ever having children and settling down with Angela Shepard. "And I don't think Angela would ever do that. Have kids, I mean. It don't seem like her kind of thing."

Sodapop chuckles at this. "I'm thinkin' you're right with that one." He sighs as he stretches out over the couch. He flops his legs roughly over mine. His socks are ripped and dirty. "Well, who is it then?"

I don't hesitate. "Ruby."

"Ruby. The girl whose house you were just at." It's not phrased as a question. My older brother rubs his face. "Pony, you didn't…you didn't do anything _with her _while you were over there…did you?"

"No!" I protest. "No way, man, I wouldn't do that to Donna."

"Good. 'Cause that's cheatin', Ponyboy. And I've been on the receiving end of that and I know how it feels. So don't do that."

"I wouldn't," I assure him, slightly offended. The fact that he would think I would do that at all has wounded me. "I would break up with her first."

"You should do that," he tells me, "before you and Ruby do anything. You're a good kid, Pony. And Donna's a good girl so she don't need that."

The inside of my cheek is starting to bleed from where I've bit on it. "Come on, Soda, give me some credit. Christ," I snap, feeling bitter. "I wouldn't do that and you know it."

"I'm sorry," he says, holding his hands up in defense, and he sounds it. "You know how I feel about cheaters."

"I know." _How could I _not _know? _We all remember how he was after Sandy."I know, Soda."

"Break up with Donna. Do what you think is right."

I slump on the couch. I feel agitated. Agitated at everything. At Ruby, at my brother, at the damn war, and Curly Shepard. "It's just that, at first, I didn't even like Ruby. She was just a friend from work. Maybe I inadvertently reeled her in or something. I hope that ain't the case." I pause. "You know she kissed me once." I say it like I'm telling Soda about my day, like I'm asking if he could pass the salt.

Soda shoots up from the couch. "What?" he asks.

"She was drunk." I bite my lip and try to nod nonchalantly. "It was at the party where I broke my wrist."

"Before or after you broke your wrist?"

I grin, despite the annoyance, despite the feeling like I want to punch something. The feeling burns hot and weighs heavy in my stomach like a block of lead. "Before." I sigh. "But that's when I started liking her. And I think she likes me, too." I pause when a thought that hadn't occurred to me before hits me. "What if she _doesn't _like me back? What if I'm about to break up with Donna for nothing?"

"Well," my brother says sagely, "you should break up with her anyway if you don't like her anymore. What's the point in relationships if you ain't happy in it?"

He has a good point with that one. "Yeah, but…but how do I break up with her? We've been together for such a long time and I don't want to make her sad."

"I don't like it either, Pone," he says simply, settling himself back onto the couch. "But sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. You gotta think about yourself for once, Ponyboy."

I rub my eyes. Inhale, exhale. "But it's haaaard."

Sodapop laughs again. "Didn't you break up with Cathy?"

"No," I snort. "She dumped my sorry ass. You remember that."

"Oh yeah." He laughs like loon. "You were a wreck."

"Thanks."

"But…didn't you break up with Angela?"

"Yeah…but that…"

"Don't count?" Sodapop finishes. He flashing that knowing smile again; it sits on his smug face.

"It doesn't. It really doesn't."

"Why don't it? You still had to break up with her, didn't ya?"

"Yeah. It just…it don't count in my mind. It don't count 'cause I didn't really care if I hurt her or not. Glory, I'm awful. It wasn't really a relationship anyway."

"What did she do?" Soda asks, leaning forward closer to me. He's like a girl who wants to hear new gossip at a slumber party. "What did she do when you broke it off?"

"She, uh…" I smile at the ground timidly. "She slapped me."

Sodapop cracks up at that, doubling over in laughter. "That's great," he manages, clapping his hands in glee. "That's too great."

"It ain't great." I feel myself blushing. "It hurt."

Soda keeps laughing.

I turn on the TV and watch Kirk and Spock on _Star Trek_, mostly because I don't want to have to think about this anymore.

* * *

On Sundays, the gang makes it a habit to come to our house to play football. We're so routine I feel like we're geriatrics. We meet on Sundays because that's the only day where we're all off.

Steve throws Darry the ball and I sit down on the porch steps to take a breather.

"Hey, Pone." Sodapop sidles up to me.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"I'm preparing what I'm gonna say to Donna." I pop my knuckles to distract myself. "I'm gonna call her and try to get her to meet up."

"You can do it, Pone," he says, clapping a hand tightly around my shoulders. I stand to get up. I try to ignore Soda's cries of, "You can do it, champ! This ain't nothing, Ponyman!"

I call Donna.

"Hello?"

She sounds out of breath, like she just went running.

"Hey…" I say sheepishly, leaning one shoulder against the chipped doorframe. "Can we meet up?"

"Um…now isn't really a good time."

Suspicious, I furrow my eyebrows. But I don't push it. I don't want to have to break up with her at all, so maybe I'll try to prolong it for as much as I can.

"Okay. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, okay, bye." She says it all hurriedly, in one hasty breath.

I swallow down uncertainty and I join the gang out in the front yard.

* * *

_Hey fucker you miss me? Theres nothing rong here really. I kinda like it. The work is hard and the drill sargents are assholes but its ok._

_Let me tell you something Curtis I met this guy named Garheart and all he would sing is fuckin Beatles. And I almost beat the tar outta him because we'd go on hikes in the fucking furnace jungles and he's singing about some chick named Eleanor Rigby I think? And I says to him, Man shut the fuck up. And he says why don't you make me. So now were pretty much friends. He wouldn't be in my gang at home but he's ok. Garhearts a good guy for listening to some shitty music. _

_Angie writes me everyday. She's a sentimental little broad cryin about how she misses me. She never gave a fuck when I was here so what makes it so different now. _

_Your probably wondering oh why is Curly writing me. Well fuck you Curtis I do what I want. I had some time tonight to write a little bit. And you told me to write you some. So I am. And you better write me back. Letters make good kindling over here. _

_Hows my brother man? He ok? He wont right me witch I get cause I wouldn't write me neither. _

_Bein in rumbles made all the difference. Here you gotta know how to fight. So I guess I'm glad I was a greaser even tho here it don't make no difference where you came from. You all get treat like shit._

_Ok college boy, I gotta go. _

_Curly_

He could really improve his spelling and grammar, I think absently. I scan the letter again. It's almost as though I can see Curly writing this, with his ugly buzz cut and army uniform. He writes exactly how he talks.

I show my brothers the letter and work on writing him back.

* * *

Rain is a welcome relief.

It starts off as sprinkling, but then it pours down so much Lansdowne's electricity is out.

So we're closed for now. I didn't really need to be here anyway.

The Pony mobile (damn it!) is residing where I left it, parked in the employees only parking spot.

The rain splatters on the windshield so much I can hardly see where I'm going.

There's a blurry figure resting on the sidewalk, getting pelted by rain every time a person drives by in their car. I turn blindly to avoid slamming into the person and then I see who it is.

Cranking down the window, I pull to the curb. "Randy?"

"Ponyboy!" He stands up quick and agile, his long hair flopping around like a wet dog. "The weather isn't exactly nice today."

"You're right about that." I shove my head back into the car, mostly to avoid getting pelted by the fat drops of precipitation. "Hey, Randy? Do you need a ride?"

"Do I!" He eagerly climbs into the backseat, shaking like a leaf. "You're too kind, Ponyboy Curtis."

"Thanks," I mumble, taking note of his actions and emotions. There's a mental checklist in me, checking off all the symptoms. He's most definitely high.

_Red eyes? Check. _

_Extremely mellow? Check. _

"You know…you _can_ get in the front seat. You don't have to sit in the back if you don't want to."

"Oh, but it's so nice back here," he tells me, his hands rubbing up and down, feeling up the interior in euphoria. "I don't want to get the front seat all wet."

"You sure?"

He nods dreamily.

"Where do you need to go?"

"Whose car is this?"

I blink, my knuckles clenching the steering wheel. "It's mine." I try to keep my tone light. I don't want him to think I'm mad at him or something. A strung out Randy isn't really something I thought I'd ever have to prepare for.

"It's looooooovely." He pauses and his head slams back into the seat. "I read the news today, oh, boy!" he screams.

"That's nice, Randy," I mutter, slowing a little. "What are you on?"

He snorts a little, like he's trying not to crack up. "A…uh, a little bit of everything, I guess."

"Jesus." I resist the urge to slam my head into the steering wheel. Why am I always the one who has to deal with high people? I really know how to pick friends.

"You know…" He wags a finger at me. "You know, I never really said thank you."

I swallow down surprise. "For what?"

He goes on like he didn't hear me. "I remember, right before that big rumble…ah…we talked in my car."

I nod hesitantly. I don't know where he's going with this.

"And…Jesus Christ, I remember feeling so bad for you," he says.

I look at him through the mirror. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't 'cause you were a greaser. I just…you were so sad. I could tell. I think we were both pretty sad around that time."

I nod again, mostly because I don't trust myself to speak.

He continues with, "I just remember seeing…_nothing _in your eyes. I know that most greasers got that look in their eyes after they see some bad stuff. Hell, even some Socs got it. But I didn't even know you and I could tell that wasn't good. I just…couldn't stand seeing you like that. Couldn't stand all this fighting. It seems so goddamn stupid now."

I blink repeatedly, breathing in. "You're right." I can't bring my voice above a whisper.

"I think that's one of the things that haunted me most. You were so miserable, so lifeless." He shakes his head. He sounds more lucid than ever. It's like I'm talking to the old Randy. "I'm so glad you're not anymore. Jesus, am I glad." He leans against the window and rubs his eyes.

"Okay, Randy." I'm still whispering. I think if I talk louder my voice will break.

"You made all the difference. After seeing you, after…after Bob died I knew I didn't want this. I wasn't happy in my life. I wanted something else. If it weren't for you I don't think I'd ever realize this."

"Randy…" I'm driving in circles now, just letting him talk.

"I haven't told Ocean Storm this." His voice is like gravel, and there's a five o'clock shadow lingering on his face. "I would just see your miserable bleach blond ass and I would know. I didn't want to be the person who put that _nothing_ look on your face. I still feel so goddamn guilty. I don't know what to do anymore, Pony. I can't win."

I wipe at my steadily blurring eyes. I'm mostly upset because I never thought I'd see him cry again. "Randy, it's not your fault."

"You were a kid." He's full-on crying now. "I was a follower. I always did what Bob said. We drank that night too, and I was stupid enough to think one of you stole Marcia away from me."

"Randy, you were a kid," I try to reassure, pulling into an empty parking lot.

"So were you!" he yells back. "It's not an excuse. You were a real little kid, I wasn't." He wipes his face. "Hell, you're still younger than I was when this happened, and I think you'd have enough sense to not do that."

"Glory, Randy, you don't gotta feel so bad. I never was mad." Okay, so that's part-lie. I was mad at first, but then I realized that Randy's just a guy.

He leans forward in his seat, and twist around to the back to face him. "You know I haven't seen Marcia since after…that night." He shakes his head. He sounds too calm right now for my liking. "After I saw you that day, blond and nearly unrecognizable, I knew. I _knew _I didn't want to be a _Soc_. I just couldn't. It's not who I am. And then, a few months later I heard the song that changed my life. "A Day in the Life", it was called. _I saw a film today, oh, boy._" He sings the last part.

I reach over and pat his shoulder. "It's okay, Randy," I try to console him. "Where do you need me to drop you off?"

"Here's fine," he says, voice monotone.

"Here?" We're in an empty parking lot in the pouring rain. "Here."

"Okay…"

"You're too good to me."

"Okay, Randy."

"I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to. It don't matter. It's okay."

He stares at me for about ten long seconds and then leaves, running swiftly into the storm.

I rub my bleary eyes and slam my head on the steering wheel.

* * *

**Here we go! _(Here I go! She's kinda cute, don't ya know that! After a while of seeing her smile I knew we could make it, oh make it in styyyyyylllleeeeee) _Sorry, I have to keep resisting the urge to break out into song. It happens a lot, really.**

**-**The song playing at Ruby's is called "One" and it is by Harry Nilsson, however, the band Three Dog Night made it famous, so it is most likely that version. It was on their debut album _Three Dog Night._

-_Star Trek _is a TV show but I think we all know that. William Shatner, yo.

-The song Curly's war buddy Garheart is singing is "Eleanor Rigby" by the Beatles. It is on the _Revolver _album.

-"I read the news today, oh, boy" and "I saw a film today, oh, boy" are lines from the song "A Day in the Life" by the Beatles, which is also the song that "changed" Randy's life. It's on the album _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band._

* * *

Uh, yeah. I'm totally not feeling this chapter, but I would appreciate some feedback. Thanks again times a million for reading and reviewing! xxx


	13. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**A/N: **Hey, had some time so I thought I'd get a quick update in. Hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: **As always, I do not own, and never will, so I'm not attempting to take credit for anything.

**Bonus warning: **A slight amount of slightly sexual content. Nothing awfully bad, but I thought I'd give a warning anyway.

* * *

It's raining the day he's buried.

Soda and Darry asked if I want them to come with me, but I didn't. I don't want them to see this, see what Ruby's like_—_what _I'm _like_—_because even though Ruby's brother wasn't _my own _brother, was someone who I hardly knew besides his visits at work, I still feel like I'm losing yet another one of my brothers.

The service is long, mostly because Ruby's parents are religious and the pastor's voice is droning and it doesn't seem like he'll stop rambling anytime soon, but it's soothing. But I can't help but squeeze my eyes shut tight, because, who is the priest kidding? Ruby's brother was just another soldier, killed from a war no one wanted. In reality, he's not going to be remembered and honored like he should be, and that kills me to think about.

Ruby sits quietly on my left side. She wears a flower in her hair, and black clothes. She's the epitome of funeral go-er. She's got that hard and determined look on her face, but she looks to be about ready to start bawling her eyes out. She squeezes my hand with all her might and stares at nothing.

I asked Donna to come, but she was too _busy. _There's something going on there, because even if Donna has a problem with Ruby she'd at least be here for her. She's not that awful. There's something going on with her, but there's so much shit happening I can't bring myself to even care.

And then, later, when the guns go off they go off loud. I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of them_—_Ruby does too.

And it seems then that she realizes what really has happened. I watch her as her face crumples, tears trailing out of her eyes and slithering down her cheeks.

I don't cry. I can't_—_Kevin ain't my brother. I didn't grow up with him like Ruby did, and I can't help but feel like I need to be strong for her.

I look over at Ruby, and I'm haunted with the thoughts of, _what if I were put in her position_? What if it was Soda, or Steve, or Two-Bit? Or maybe even Darry? Two-Bit was right when he told me to be careful that one night when I got my car. We can't lose someone else. Jesus, I just don't think I can take that.

My hands find their way to rubbing my aching head. There's a dull throbbing, worming its way into becoming a migraine, but I don't pay much attention to it.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend that they're talking about anyone in this eulogy. That none of this ever happened. I shake off the thoughts that Ruby's brother could be _living _right now, happy and healthy, and maybe he'd even be laughing at the way everyone was saying such good stuff about him. It's easier to pretend everything is fine.

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach. I just want to melt into the concrete and into one of the graves because no matter what I do I can't make this better. And I know that I'll be in this graveyard one day, or maybe one of my friends, or Soda and Darry.

I wonder if this is what Johnny and Dallas's funerals were like. I couldn't go. And not just because I was sick, I just _couldn't _go_. _I didn't think you should go to the funerals of the people you killed, and in my hazys sickness-induced delirium, that made perfect sense.

I wonder if Ruby feels the same way as I did, lives with some kind of guilt even though there was nothing she could have done. I wonder if she feels like she should have been able to do something. I burn deep inside with empathy; I can dig that feeling of desperation and helplessness.

I squeeze her hand and she sniffles. _It's okay. _But I don't know who I'm trying to convince.

There's a song playing, quietly in the distance, and I don't think Ruby can hear it. Either that, or she's so consumed by her grief she's deaf to the rest of the world. I can't say I blame her.

"_I need a fix 'cause I'm going down…Mother Superior jump the gun…"_

"He really liked the Beatles." Ruby's cracked and broken whisper breaks the humming silence, snaps me out of my distorted reverie. She sniffs and tries to give me a smile. "He's, uh…he's the one that got me into this kind of music."

I don't know what to say to this. I just swallow thickly and squeeze her hand tightly.

* * *

"I think_—_I think the only time I've been more upset was when Martin Luther King, Jr. died…"

I nod, even though she can't see me, and twist my fingers around the phone cables. "I'm sorry." I don't know why I say it. I know she's heard it more than enough times today and she's probably sick of hearing it. Hell, I'm sick of saying it.

"The worst part, though…" she says, and she doesn't seem to be crying anymore. "The worst part was that he was supposed to be coming home soon."

I squeeze my eyes and rub my temples, a move I've accidentally picked up from Darry.

"And now, everything's going badly." She sighs. "Ponyboy, I don't know what to do anymore. We live in a world where people are dying in the hundreds and thousands daily. And yet, I never lost hope. I think that was one thing that differentiated me from others. It was always something I took pride in. Because I just _knew _that things would eventually get better. You, you've still got hope. You do, and I find that inspiring. I used to have hope, and now…now I'm not so sure."

"You don't want to give up," I tell her, my voice assertive. "Come on, Ruby, you gotta stay positive. It gets better, I know."

She voice is crackly over the line when she says, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You just…if anyone else said that I wouldn't believe them. How do you do it? How are you so goddamn idealistic?"

"It's a gift," I try to joke. I lean my aching head against the wall, shoving my face into my palms.

"And it's one I'm envious of, Ponyboy Curtis," she says, and in that instant, she sounds like the old Ruby. The Ruby that wasn't ridden by tragedy, the one who suggests me to read _A Clockwork Orange_, or to see _My Fair Lady _with her. "That hopeful, almost…_innocent_ outlook on life."

I bite my lip hard. "I just know it gets better. That's what keeps me going. I know I've got good people in my life. That look out for me. And I'm so damn grateful for it. If you ever get sad, just know that people are here for you. _I'm_ here for you."

"You're really the best," she whispers. "You really are."

* * *

I make another call.

"Hey, Donna_—_"

"Yeah?" There's a ruffling sound, like she's blustering around her room. "Oh, hi, Ponyboy!" she exclaims, voice suddenly over-the-top bright.

"Can we talk, or meet up sometime later?" I bite my lip sheepishly. "I gotta talk to you."

"I, uh…Pony, I'm kind of busy." I hear the sound of a TV blaring in the background.

"What?" I snap, impatience ripping through me. Now, I'm starting to get mad. I ignore Soda's wary glance at me, his eyes questioning. "How is it, that every single time I call you, you're _busy_?"

"I have a lot to do! It's not my fault! You know I take summer courses sometimes!"

"Donna, you know what happened today? I attended a funeral." I squeeze the bridge of my nose to keep myself from latching out. "Ruby had to bury her brother. And you couldn't even be there."

Before she says anything else, I push forward with, "And I know that you and Ruby didn't really get off on the right foot. _I know that. _It's just, can't you be there for her? For me? For Pete's sake, for anyone other than yourself?"

"I was busy," she grinds out.

"Yeah." I laugh bitterly. My anger isn't really directed toward her, but I'm mad and sad and frustrated and so I lash out at her. "Yeah, busy watching _Gunsmoke _or listening to "Purple Haze"."

"Fine." It's all she says, but there's so much anger in her words.

"Fine," I say, near as defiant as her.

"Fine," she repeats. "We'll meet tomorrow."

_Click. _

"Damn it!" I yell as I slam the phone into the receiver. Two-Bit pops his greasy head in, sitting alongside Soda.

"Whoa, who, guys," he says with a devilish grin. "Don't mess with him. With _the Ponyman_."

"Shut the hell up, Two-Bit."

"What is it this time?" Steve asks, putting his feet up in the worn recliner.

"Aw, guys, leave 'im alone." I nod internally, always grateful that Soda is so willing to always jump to my defense. "What's the matter, Pone? What happened?"

"Donna," I say through clenched teeth. My jaw is so clutched together I run the risk of breaking a tooth.

"Ohhhh," Steve mumbles, his eyes closing. "I should have known."

"Everything's fallin' to shit," I moan, covering my face and suppressing a dramatic sigh as I sit down. "Ruby's brother's dead, Curly's a soldier, and I don't really know what to do anymore."

I shouldn't be complaining, I notice. I'm not the one who's in war, I'm not the one who was in that casket back there. I'm not the one who has to deal with a death again. At least I've got a family who loves me. I mean, Johnny was fucking abused by a 2x4 and never complained once, and Steve's dad always kicks him out, but here I am, acting like a damn bawl baby.

The silence that descends has me taken aback, but it beckons me to speak more, to fill the silence. "There's somethin' goin' on with Donna, too." I look up at their stunned faces. "I don't know what. All we do is fight. I'm trying to talk to her all the time but she's always _busy. _She's doin' something. Just don't know what."

"Man, buzz officially killed." But Two-Bit flashes me a smile to know my story didn't really unnerve him at all.

"You need to get out, man," Steve says. He leans farther back in his chair and pops each individual knuckle. "You're gonna get an aneurysm or something."

"Well, why don't we go out tonight?" Sodapop suggests, and I see that glowing life in his eyes. The extraordinary brightness that he gets when he's excited, or proud, or happy. Maybe it's the same life that Randy Adderson said I was lacking back all those years ago.

"We should!" Two-Bit nods excitedly, slurping down all his beer as he does so. "Get our drink on!"

"Looks like you've already got a head start on that," I tell him, and he guffaws loudly, hopping up and ruffling my hair.

* * *

"Woohoo!" Two-Bit shouts drunkenly. "Aw, man! This is great!"

We're at a bowling alley (not my idea), and I sit with Darry and Steve as Sodapop and Two-Bit try to hustle some guys at darts.

"What's that one song, Soda?" he yells, even though he doesn't really have to because we're all right next to him. "That one song."

"You're gonna need to be more clear, Two-Bit."

He dismisses my brother with a wave of his hand. "Ah, never mind. HEY, KID, WHAT'S THAT ONE SONG? THE, UH, _OH_! '_I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink'_!"

"Two-Bit, no one knows what the hell you're talking about," Steve says, and Darry and me laugh. "So quit screamin' in my ear before you embarrass yourself even more."

"Ah, whatever. I hear these blasted songs at my work all day. Guess they just stick with me."

Two-Bit turns back around, haphazardly stumbling over some little boy walking beside him.

"I didn't even think he could get drunk anymore," Darry muses aloud. "I thought that it would be like drinking a vitamin by now."

"He does drink a lot," I mutter, burying myself more into my book.

Even though I'm not exactly having as much fun as I'd originally hoped for, my mind is away from my troubles and that's all I was hoping for, really.

"What are you reading, Pone?"

"_Walden_."

"You brought a book to a bowling alley?" Steve scoffs.

I turn up to face him. "Yeah, I did." I turn to Darry. "I'm gonna go smoke."

"Be right back," Darry orders.

* * *

The smoke calms me down and I sit in the muggy heat, looking at the starry night sky. I wish Ruby were here to watch them with me.

I hear footsteps before I see who they belong to.

And then Angela Shepard is standing over me.

"Ugh," I groan. "Why are you here?"

I don't care how callous that sounds, I'm just sick of having to put up with everything. This was supposed to be my night to get away from all this.

"What, I'm not allowed to be here, at the bowling alley?" She cocks her head to side, sizing me up. "I'm insulted."

"What do you want, Angela?"

"Nothing much." She twirls a long black-blue strand of hair between her fingers. _Pop, pop, pop _goes the pink bubblegum in her mouth, and I watch as she chomps away.

"Well, good. I'm going inside."

I stand, and she puts her small hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "No, wait. Hear me out."

I decide to go back inside, because she can't really do much to hurt me (or have someone else hurt me) if we're inside the building.

"What do you want?" I snap, my nerves frayed. "Why are you everywhere I need to be?"

I walk to the bar area, but it's like she's glued to me, like we're pinned together. "Ponyboy," she whispers, like I just killed her favorite pet. "Ponyboy, I miss you. I miss us."

"There was never an us, Angel, and you know it."

"What's this all about?" a voice behind us says.

Angela Shepard and I turn in tandem.

It's Soda. And Steve. And _Darry. _

"Nothing." _Oh, God, just go away. Please._

I sit down calmly and Angela sits next to me, her chair scooting closer and closer to me.

"There's nothing goin' on here," she says, overly sweetly, and then her hands are rubbing up and down my thighs, groping me because she knows there's nothing I can do about it, and she's just that cunning, unbeknownst to my brothers.

"Yep, everything's fine," I assure them hurriedly, wanting nothing more than for them to leave me alone, and for Angela to stop touching me like that.

I visibly jump when Angela's hands go _too_ far up (Oh, glory) and she smiles at me sinisterly; then to my brothers.

"Okay." Steve's eyes are wide, like he's figuring out what's going on.

"Yeah_—_yeah, bye." I swallow.

When they leave, I slap Angela's hand away. "What in the world are you doin'?" I ask, my eyes wide and round like saucers. "What the _hell_?"

"Oh, don't act like you didn't like it," she says smoothly, leaning next to me. She gets closer and closer to my face, and I don't have much room to move unless I want to lean into the guy sitting next to me.

"You can't_—_" I shake my head. "Angela, really? You don't go around doin' that. You don't do that to people."

She smiles again, that crazy broad, and then, I'm kissing Angela Shepard, and I try to break it up but her hand is on the back of my head, gripping it tight, and she leans against me with all her body weight.

"Angela!" I pant, and then shove her off. "No! Down, girl! Down!"

I stand up again, and she does too. She stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, "You know, you really ought to talk to that girlfriend of yours. There are rumors going around town. And when you do that, you make sure call me."

She kisses me lightly on the cheek, and swaggers off, leaving me to wonder what the fuck just happened.

* * *

"What in the world?" Darry bellows. "What? Just…what?"

"I know," Sodapop says, his mouth forming an amused grin.

"I know," I mumble, embarrassed. Actually the word embarrassed doesn't seem to cover it. I'm beyond humiliated, especially now that my oldest brother knows.

He shakes his head and rubs his eyes, sinking into his recliner. "Tell me, Soda, tell me. Did you know about this?"

Sodapop's face looks totally stoic, but you can tell by his shaking voice that he's trying with all his might to not start breaking out laughing. "Yeah, Dar. Only for a little while."

"Ponyboy," he goes on, ignoring Soda, "what…? When did this?"

"It was a long time ago," I rush to explain. "It only lasted a few weeks or so."

"Jesus." Darry's face is tired, haggard, warn. "She could tear you apart, Ponyboy."

My eyebrows knit together. "Oh, wow, Darry, thanks."

"Not what I meant, Ponyboy. Do you know who her brother is?"

"Yes." I straighten up in the chair as a thought occurs to me. "And they don't know. And they won't know. Because no one is going to tell them. Right?"

"Right."

"Right, Pony. You know the guys wouldn't tell."

"They better not," I say. "Can you imagine what would happen?"

"Jesus. I know."

And then Sodapop goes on to list everything he thinks would happen.

* * *

**Oh! What's gonna happen? Who knows? It's a mystery! Woooooowww. **

-The song playing at the funeral is "Happiness is a Warm Gun" by the Beatles. On _the White Album _or AKA _The Beatles. _

_-Gunsmoke _is a 1960s TV show.

-"Purple Haze" is a song by the Jimi Hendrix Experience, which is on the album _Are You Experienced?_

-The song Two-Bit drunkenly spews is "Love Potion No. 9" by the Searchers. From the album _Meet the Searchers. _

_-_Ponyboy is reading _Walden, _an autobiography by transcendentalist writer Henry David Thoreau.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for all the reviews you guys left! You're the coolest! Please leave more. :-)


	14. Left a Good Job in the City

**A/N: **Oh, man. Oh, man, oh, man. It's finally happening. The inevitable. I've been planning this chapter since the beginning. I'm so glad it's finally the time for it. I really hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own, I'm not even acting like I own, you all know I'm not Ms. Hinton. Pardon typos. Language, as always. Haha, I shouldn't even put the warning.

* * *

"Do you want me to come over there later?"

"Yeah. I mean…I think we should talk."

"I do, too," Donna says over dull thrum of the phone line. "I think that would be best."

I nod, forgetting that she can't see me, and balance the phone between the crook of my neck and my shoulder, propped up to my ear. "I'll see you soon," I tell her, but it doesn't seem like I'm very happy about it.

Which I'm not. I actually been dreading this day for a while. I just ain't the type of person to be able to do this.

But I gotta know. There's something not right here…I can feel it. It's just too weird to overlook.

* * *

In the moonlight, Donna's big eyes shine bright. They're heavily coated with some make-up; man, she looks like one of them greaser girls like Sylvia or Evie, complete with her tight, hot pink mini skirt (glory - what in the world?) and a shirt with Campbell's Soup Cans on them.

"What are you wearin'?" I ask before I can stop myself. It's just…such a dramatic change for what she usually wears. She usually dresses so modest…so Socy. I don't like this.

"What do you mean?" she replies, smacking her ruby red lips together. "It's the newest in mod fashion. Andy Warhol's artwork is on the front."

"If you say so," I mutter, but I don't think she heard me.

It goes silent for a while. We sit out on the front porch, watching the dark skies; I don't want my friends and brothers to hear what Donna and me might say.

"So, um…" I drop off and bite my lip, wondering how I'm supposed to approach this. I go blunt with: "Are you seein' someone else? Behind my back?"

She looks at me. I look back at her. We're staring at each other for what seems to be five minutes before she busts out with, "Oh, God, Ponyboy…"

I look down at the concrete stairs I'm sitting on, my arms on my knees. Feeling crestfallen, I notice that this is what I suspected the entire time. I'm not even into Donna anymore and it hurts.

"What?" My voice sounds like a whisper. I don't know why I feel so shocked; I think I knew this all along. "Who…why? What?"

She starts crying. "Ponyboy, I'm sorry…please forgive me. You know I only love you."

"Obviously not," I snap, sadness turning to bitterness. "Or you wouldn'ta done this in the first place."

"I don't know what I was thinking!" She stands as her voice raises in octaves, her tears suddenly forgotten.

"Why'd you do it?" I yell, feeling all the stress of the past week finally starting to catch up to me. "What? Was I just not good enough?"

Donna laughs then, a weird, ugly, horrible noise grinding out of her throat as she throws her head back. Her eyes are shining and wild. "Billy is everything I want in a man."

I back up in horror at the sudden change of attitude. What a lunatic. "How could you…do...that?"

She doesn't let me finish. "He's so wonderful. He buys me everything. All the records I could dream of!" She's almost screaming now, to the point where I know where my brothers and the gang are listening and maybe even the neighbors. "You never could do that! You don't _have_ any money!"

I take a moment to breathe through the hurt. I resist the urge to start screaming back. How the hell could she possibly say something like that without feeling awful? And after I compose myself I say quietly, "Come on, Donna. You know that ain't my fault."

She laughs again, and I close my eyes against the wicked sound. "We shagged, he and I. Did you know that?"

"Shagged?" I whisper, and then I get it. Aghast, I plop back down into the stairs and sit. My hands grip the top of head and I run my fingers through my greaseless hair. "Jesus Christ."

This shocks and hurts in more ways than one. Donna and I have never had sex. Donna was always the one who wanted to save herself for marriage. I respected her enough to support her decisions, because, I mean…I wasn't really jumping to do it, either. I don't know much about that field. And that's something I'm too shy to ask Sodapop about.

"He was my first. It was bitchin'."

I'm seething, but I also want to cry. I don't think there has ever been a time where I've been as mad as I am now. She's scaring me. She's been this loony probably the whole time and I never saw it. She was always one the most sane people I knew. How wrong you can be about a person. How horribly wrong.

"How long?" I force myself to ask, willing my voice not to break. "How_—_how long have you been goin' with this clown?"

"About a month," she spits. "At first…well, at first it was clandestine. You know…secret meetings all over the city, hanging out at my place. Whatever. And then…" She grins evilly. "Well, let me just say I'm surprised it took you this long to find out. Remember the night we were at the strip and I said I had to go babysit? Well…" she laughs. "I totally lied to your face. And you didn't even blink."

I'm rendered utterly speechless. There's nothing I can even think to say in this situation. What _could _you say in a situation like this? But she continues: "And I feel mighty bad for you, Ponyboy Curtis. You're a cute kid, even cuter than that brother of yours. A good one. But you deserve better." She stops talking and seems to think about something. "And don't even tell me you weren't sleeping with Little Miss Sunshine Hippie Queen."

"What?" I can't even fathom what she's saying. I'm in such awe I don't know what to do. "No, I wasn't! Never! Not even once!"

She looks at me knowingly. "Yeah, okay. Whatever gets you to sleep at night, kiddo."

"How_—_how could you do this?" I ask. "How could you do this to anyone?"

"Billy's a gas. He's the most fun I've had in a while. And he's _rich. _He can buy me anything I want and doesn't drive a shitty car like yours."

"Go to hell," I say through grit teeth.

"I probably will," she sneers, in a way that reminds me strikingly of Angela Shepard. "I think we may all be going there soon enough."

"Are you…" I shake my head. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck?" What the fuck.

"I'll give you a little time to process this. It must seem like a lot happening at one time."

Well, that's an understatement. I don't even know what to think.

"Get off my porch," I bark. "I don't want to ever see you again."

"Fine," she retorted. "But I'll need all my records and stuff back."

I echo, "Fine. Stay out here."

I open the door and knock into Soda and Two-Bit (it appears that they have been listening at the door the entire time). "What's goin' on out there, Pone?"

"Nothin'!" I almost shriek, not meaning to direct my anger at my brother but that's just what happens.

"O-kayy…" I hear him say, with a glimmer of a laugh in his voice, but I'm too busy bustling to my room.

"That don't sound like nothin'," I hear Steve grunt. And then the sound of the door opening.

"Hey, Donna!" Soda, Steve, Darry, and Two-Bit say all at once, all of their voices sounding overly sweet. Damn, they really hate her.

She ignores them. "Where's my stuff, Ponyboy?"

I shout, "I'm gettin' it! Relax! And what are you doin' in my house?"

I throw all her shit haphazardly in a box. Obviously she didn't care about me so why should I care for her stuff? I throw in her _Revolver _album, the one we never listened to together, along with some of her headbands and a peace sign necklace. I also throw in the _2001: A Space Odyssey _poster she once gave me when we first started dating.

I hear Steve trying to suppress a laugh. "How are you doing today, Donna?" he asks, in that way where I can tell he's being condescending but she might not.

"None of _your _business, Randle."

"That's…quite the outfit you got on there, baby," says Two-Bit.

I walk out, holding the cardboard box out in front of me. "Here," I grunt. "Now make yourself scarce, please."

She reaches out and grabs her stuff. "Gladly." And with that, she turns and walks out, and doesn't look back.

* * *

I run into my room and slam my door shut, simply because I'm too embarrassed to even face anyone right now.

I am having a hard time figuring out why I feel so hurt about this. I was planning on breaking up with her…

A whole month? A whole month she spent lying and going behind my back. She's a Sandy.

Here I have Soda lecturing me not to cheat on Donna with Ruby but she does it to me instead. How can anyone do that without feeling awful about it? I felt horrible when Ruby drunkenly kissed me, and I had nothing to do about it.

There was a time where I was in love with Donna. I loved her even around the time she started seeing "Billy", whoever he is. I thought she loved me, too. It kills me to think that she probably never did.

My eyes are watering now, and something wet drips down my face. Damn it, I think.

I'm not upset about the fact that we're over. It's the betrayal that's screwing with me. How many times has she lied to me in the past?

I know I wasn't the best boyfriend. I couldn't buy her everything she wanted, but at least I tried. I picked her up whenever she wanted and even got a better car mostly due to her persistence.

How could she do this? I keep asking myself.

If only I could get some answers.

* * *

There's a soft knock at the door, and then Soda's voice: "Pony?"

"What?" I moan, feeling extremely sorry for myself. I wallow in my own pity party.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." I smash my head in the pillow.

Sodapop sits on the bed beside me. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

I sit up beside him, slouching. "I think you already know what happened." I run a hand over the stubble on my jaw line. "You and Two-Bit were eavesdroppin' like crazy."

"Well…" He grins. "It was kind of hard to hear you. Donna, well…Donna's got a real shrill voice. It ain't hard to hear her. But it's difficult hearing only one half of the dialogue."

"Donna's a cheater."

"I know." Soda's face is grey. "Oh, Pone…"

"She's been goin' with this other guy for a month now. _A month_! I guess I was just too dumb to see it. Everyone else apparently did."

"You ain't dumb, Ponyboy. You're the smartest person I know." He puts his arm around my shoulder and we sit in silence for a few moments. "Christ, how could she do that?"

"I don't know," I choke, and I really hope I don't burst into tears again.

"You're handling it better than I did." He smiles at me. We look just alike. "Seriously."

"Well…you were in love with Sandy, Soda. I was planning on breakin' up with Donna. It just hurts 'cause she's been lyin' to me this entire time, almost. Remember that time I asked you what bein' in love's like?"

Sodapop nods, his forehead crinkled. "Well…I think I knew…for a while. What it felt like. I think I loved her for a little while."

"And what, you love…Ruby, now?"

"Possibly." I look at him sheepishly. "I think so. Maybe."

"You don't know?"

"I think I am. I wanna go with her."

"Then go for it."

"I don't know, Sodapop…I mean, what if she don't like me back or something?"

He smiles at me then, and nudges me. "Aw, come on," he says, "you're a Curtis! Who wouldn't like you back?"

I roll my eyes. "You're crazy, man."

* * *

"Oh, my God!" I shout. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. "When did she become such a…a freak?"

Steve says, "I hate to break it to you, kid, but she's always been like that."

* * *

"_Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the_ _river_,"Two-Bit sings, loudly, its sound grating against my ears.

"Hey…" Two-Bit claps me on the shoulder. His face is unreadable, his grey eyes twinkling. "I'm real sorry to hear about…ya know."

"Yeah, I do. Thanks."

"No problem, man. Glory, what's with all the cheating skanks around here, huh? First it happens to Soda, then you. It just ain't right. People are supposed to be faithful, ya know?"

I fan myself with my hand (the heat wave's back) and shield my eyes against the setting sun.

"You'd think she'd stay," Two-Bit muses to himself. "You're a real catch." He flashes a huge grin.

I ignore the last part, instead focusing on _you'd think she'd stay. _"Yeah, you would think." I rub my forehead, feeling the ache settling. "Guess you can't trust nobody. Maybe I shouldn't be trustin' nobody."

"Man, don't say stuff like that. That ain't like you and you know it. You ain't like the rest of us."

"I don't know, Two-Bit," I say, and my voice sounds oddly detached, like I'm not even the one saying anything. "You know what the worst thing was? It seems like everyone else knew what she was up to and I didn't have the slightest notion. I had to find out from _Angela Shepard _what she was doing."

He raises on eyebrow. "Ouch. That's the pits, kid."

"Understatement." I smile. "I'm just sorry you guys had to put up with her. She's a handful."

"Understatement," he says. "And you're the one I feel bad for. Golly, how did you put up with that? And why?"

"I don't know. It wasn't that bad, I guess."

Two-Bit laughs at me. "Yeah," he says. "Whatever makes you feel better."

* * *

**Wellllllll? How'd you like it? I hope you enjoyed. Donna really is a psycho bitch, isn't she?**

**Stuff: **

Okay, so Donna's shirt has Campbell's soup cans on them. It is, at least in my mind, taken from Andy Warhol's _Campbell's Soup Cans, _since he was huge in the sixties. RIP, Andy.

"Shagged" - British 60s slang for having sex.

"Bitchin'!" - slang for awesome. "Man, that party was bitchin'!"

_2001: A Space Odyssey _is the shit. Movie. It was directed by Stanley Kubrick. I love him so.

Two-Bit is singing "Proud Mary" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Ike and Tina Turner did a cover of it, though CCR's is the original.

* * *

Thanks for reading and for the lovely reviews! You're all so rad, man. I hope you liked this. :-)

I'm sorry this took so long and I'm sorry that this chapter is so short. It's just all I wanted to write in one, you know? I'll update again, soon.

This story's only got a few chapters left. I'd say four or maybe even five. Thanks!


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